Doing what they do - a cautionary tale

 “And the serpent said unto the woman, 

Ye shall not surely die;”

- Genesis 3:4 (Bible KJV)

This time of year, six a.m., is just before the sun pokes its head over the western slope of the Catalina Mountains. Getting out in the five a.m. colorless greys of the early morning permits one of the great wonders of life…the rising sun! On cloudless days, slowly emerging robin egg blue skies light the day. 

 

During the monsoon season, clouds coat the morning sky with mysterious shapes that are practically invisible. Almost imperceptibly, the underside of their pillowy softness reflects the sun's grand entrance preceded by brilliant colors that defy description. Despite the earth rolling toward the east at mind-bending speed, the appearance and shifting brilliant colors appear to slowly slip away into the full morning light. As the sixties poet Rod McKuen wistfully wrote: "Clouds are not the cheeks of angels you know, they are only clouds." Maybe so, but in my imagination, "…cheeks of angels…" understate the magnificence of the coming day!

 

I take the 5am to 6am time to read, sitting in the back yard…waiting for the show. It is life-affirming to be present in the early morning when the world begins yet once again.

 

Our little back yard, and smaller front yard, are desert landscapes. Some Barrel Cacti, Chuparosa, a Desert Spoon, a couple of Desert Willows, a Mexican Primrose, and a Texas Ranger (just outside the camera range). 

Despite our desert and heat-resistant plant life, we try to provide small amounts of water. Once a week or so, in the cooler early morning hours, we fill unglazed terra cotta pots called Ollas (Oi-yas) buried in the ground. The terra cotta ‘weeps water’ into the soil at a steady rate providing moisture. Native Americans used them to irrigate crops to minimize water waste. It is an efficient way to ensure the yard remains healthy during the hot summers. There are five Ollas in the backyard and one in the front.

A few weeks ago, after finishing the back yard, I headed to the front. In that small space reside couple of young armless Saguaros. They have not yet grown arms with 'hands in the air' for which the Sonoran Desert is known. There are also some Mexican Fence Posts and an Orange Bell.

It was still a bit dusky as I began filling the Olla from a hose attached to the side of the house. It was about half-full when I glanced under the Orange Bell. I'm not sure why I did, but when I did, I saw a rattle snake curled up and looking straight at me. At first, I thought it might be sleeping in the cooler morning air, but in my 'instant frozen about to freak-out state,' I noticed its tongue probing the air in my direction.

 

We've lived in the desert for nine years. Besides an occasional snake on the bike paths or in cages, I have never been close to a rattler.

 

We've also taken classes on what to do if you encounter a rattlesnake in the desert. The best thing, of course, is to make sure to stay at a distance, learning they can only strike half the length of their bodies. Frighteningly, I was well within range. 

It was one of those instant heart-pounding, nasal passage-clearing, mortal fear moments. All I wanted to do, as flight or fight hormones surged through me, was to jump up and run away. But I knew that thing could strike a lot faster than my seventy-five-year-old body could get up and go. It was all I could to put the hose gently down, slowly stand, and back away, praying it wouldn’t strike. I did – it didn’t! 

 

In an Aesop fable, a farmer saves a frozen snake only to be bitten by it. When the farmer asked why, the snake replied, "...because it's what I do..."

The fire department here offers snake relocation services. When called, they come, capture and release them to the desert. 

I was grateful the call was to them, not emergency services, for a ride to the hospital.

The next morning, in the grey morning light, I was a little more grateful to see the sun come once again...

 

- ted