Fear of Snakes....or is it?

Snake Musings

“The transmutation of the life-death-rebirth cycle is exemplified by the shedding of Snake’s skin. It is the energy of wholeness, cosmic consciousness, and the ability to experience anything willingly and without resistance. It is the knowledge that all things are equal in creation, and that those things which might be experienced as poison can be eaten, ingested, integrated and transmuted if one has the proper state of mind.”

There are always snakes in the grass. A movement caught by the corner of my eye…blade of grass twitching, or worse, the feel of an escaping snake under the pressure of my gardening glove. It’s a visceral reaction…first felt in the throat with a scream and followed in my racing heart and then relief when I acknowledge the snake in my path is harmless.

Until I lived in Costa Rica, I’d never been around dangerous snakes. New Jersey, Quebec, and Oregon snakes were benign, in fact Mom liked to see them in her garden; she knew they were cleaning up the bugs. These were pretty little green or brown garden snakes with a shock of yellow running down their sides. Their heads were narrow, eyes shy, and they would slither away from intruders if they could. In fact, sometimes they could not! I remember the summer I spent tracking snakes with my cousin Martha. We were about ten-years-old then, and we found it entertaining to catch garter snakes and skin them to make belts. Supple and lovely when first removed from the flesh of the snake, the skin would become stiff and curled when dried, so they didn’t work well for belts. After the skin was pinned to a wall, we’d fry up the meat and feed it to our dolls for a special feast.

I do recall the event that brought our snake hunting days to an end, and maybe it’s the spirit of that snake that haunts me now. It was late morning and the sun was just coming above the hemlock trees to warm the dock. Almost time to go swimming. Martha had caught the big daddy of all garter snakes! It was about three feet long, and it’s glossy amber scales glistened in the sunlight; this was a perfect specimen! Unable to find my sheath knife, I ran back to the cabin and grabbed the fingernail scissors from the bathroom. They’d hung on a nail above the sink for as long as I could remember…tiny curved blades pitted with rust, in fact it was difficult to open and close them as I prepared to decapitate our snake.  Martha clutched our victim’s throat and steadied his writhed body as it twisted and flipped around her forearm, and I, one slow slice at a time, finally removed his head. After  pulling off our trophy skin, Martha triumphantly tossed the carcass into the lake down below the cliff. But that was not the end of the snake.

As our eyes followed, we were horrified to see the skinless carcass slice through the water like a white ghost. I knew that snakes moved after they had been killed, but swimming in our lake was something else altogether! “Ew!” we shrieked in unison, and then fell silent as we watched it swim just under the surface and finally drop out of sight Still, even all these years later, I worry when I swim in Lake Memphremagog; I worry  I will tangle with the ghost snake.

***

As I prepare for my trip to the California desert, I find my cavalier attitude about sleeping under the stars changing a bit. At the orientation, our guide asked us what we were afraid of. “Nothing, “ I responded. “Really, bears and cougars and bugs and snakes don’t frighten me and I’m excited at the prospect of sleeping without a tent under the stars.” But I had a dream a month ago and it involved a rattlesnake. It bushed by my head ever so slightly touching the top of my hair, almost like a breeze, but in my dream I awoke and felt the presence of danger. Alone. Solo. Without a tent. Without a net. I froze as I assessed the situation and then slowly found my flashlight in the rumples of my sleeping bag, turned it on and, slipping my arm up and beaming the light off to my left I spotted the intruder. It was coiled like the National Geographic photos imprinted in the danger compartment of my brain, but I didn’t hear a rattle. And thank goodness it was a dream! My dream voice stayed stuck in my throat  until the terror of the dream woke me up. “Thank God!” I whispered as I turned on the light and tried to push the nightmare away. “Phew!” Slowly my heart rate calmed and the dream descended.

***

Now, weeks later, I can’t stop thinking about the dream and about rattlesnakes. I’ve asked our guide about rattlesnakes and she has assured me there is no data that says a snake has crawled into a sleeping bag or bothered anyone at rest. “Rattlesnakes are shy,” she assured us at the orientation, “and the only time they will bite is if you surprise them.” In her twenty-seven years of running Nature Quests on the desert, there has never been a snake bite.

Off to my left, there is a pile of gear for my trip. I have boots, nylon pants, wool socks, a Smartwool undershirt, bug repellent, sunscreen, a wool hat and a sun hat, a fanny pack for day hikes that holds two quarts of water, power bars, packages of electrolyte powder for energy and hydration, two bandanas, a first aid kit that has nothing in it for snake bite, nylon underwear, toilet paper and small towel, babywipes, rain jacket, wool jacket, sleeping bag, tarp and rope, REI’s loudest whistle, sunglasses, my hand-woven Peruvian sit-upon, journal and pens etc.  Just now I am adding a head of garlic because I have to believe it will protect me. In fact it did once before!

When I was in Costa Rica, Don Luciano, a potter and the leader of our fieldtrip into the mountains to dig clay, gave me and each of my high school students a clove of garlic to put in our left hand pockets. This was to protect us from rattlesnakes, he explained, and I learned several hours later that it works. On that trail, I became separated from the group…or rather, the kids separated from me in a tornado of dust as they took off down the mountain.

I did hear the rattle that time and screeched to a halt, sliding on the scree and falling backwards just out of striking range. Heart pounding, sweat dripping from my pours, I sat and contemplated my predicament. The path was narrow. The high jungle undergrowth was dangerous, and I was alone. Were there other snakes in the grass? Should I go forward, or should I retrace my footsteps and try to find Don Luciano and the other adults that lagged way behind me and even further behind the kids. I waited. Terrified and disconnected, but eventually the snake dropped to the earth and slithered across my path into the underbrush. The garlic had worked.

So what am I afraid of? Is it the snake? Or does the snake appear at times of transition or challenge? Are snakes the wake-up call for me? Do they alert me to take note, to slow down? To examine my path before I blindly go crashing down it?

It was the ghost snake that helped me see the beauty in wild animals and clear lakes, and all living things. It was the jungle snake that taught me not to chase after my students, with patience and caution we would find each other. And now I approach the desert. I have never been to the desert; in fact it is as foreign to me as the face of the moon. I don’t know what lives there or what harm lurks in the rocks and sand or the night sky. But fear lurks somewhere in my gut and wants to be looked at. Is it the snakes? Is it bodily harm? Is it fear of facing my own damons? I don’t know, but, as always, I am excited to be heading down a new path…on a new journey to the unknown. And as always, I’m trusting that I will fit in well and will be embraced by all that surrounds me.