We recently bought a small twenty-six acre farm. We have beautiful trails through the woods around the perimeter of the property. Periodically, we go out armed with a small chain saw and mower and keep them clean. I am adjusting to country life. I love it, in spite of learning to face my fears on a daily basis. Recently, my fear of snakes and spiders was challenged.
The other day my husband burst into the kitchen after returning from mowing the trail that lines our northern property line.
“Jackie, I need you to help me with something,” he starts.
“I have to take the dogs for a walk in a little bit, what do you need help with,” I say prefacing my answer with my next chore.
“You can bring the dogs. I saw a huge snake and I am going to kill it. I think it’s a rattle snake,” he says.
“I am not going to take Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum down there. Those two aren’t smart enough to get out of danger’s way,” I say referring to my sweet grand dogs I am dog sitting. A few weeks prior, the lab took the bulldog mix on an adventure cross country. The lab made it back home, but the bulldog mix required a search party, with flyers, and numerous Facebook posts, to recover her. Found her a mile away in a neighbor’s chicken coop.
“I think it’s still down this big hole. I want to get the roofing hoe and chop it up. I need you to watch and see if crawls out,” he says.
“I’m going to have to draw a line here and say no. Do you remember what happened when I found the chicken snake in the barn?” I jog his memory of me running out of my shoes as I left the barn. I’m going to stay here with the dogs.
A half hour goes by and Jerry returns.
“Well, I went out there and ran over the hole three times, on the riding lawn mower. I was hoping the vibrations would make him stick his head out, so I could just chop him up with the mower. I finally give up and grab the roofing hoe (straight blade hoe), and slowly walk up to the hole. I see him in there. I slowly raise the hoe up and come down hard with all my strength, three times in a row. That snake never moves. I bend down closer and realize I am looking at a tree root that looks like a coiled up rattler,” he says as we both double over laughing.
A couple of days later I am helping Jerry check the skimmer on the pool. I put my
heavy duty garden gloves on and take the top of the skimmer off. I shew the large water spiders off the basket handle. With gloved hands, I feel safe as I empty the leaves out of the plastic catch basket. I replace it and go inside. As I take off my glove, I glance down and see one of the large water spiders has made it inside my glove and is crawling up my palm. My flight or fight response kicks in. My feet start running involuntarily. It’s too bad I’m in my socks. I feel like I levitate as my feet literally run out from under me, but with no traction, I end up flying sideways and come down horizontally on my right side. As I land, I can’t see where the spider has gone. I don’t feel pain. I can’t stop laughing hysterically. Jerry runs into the dining area where I’m still on the floor.
“Are you okay?” he ask bending down, trying to see my face. I can’t answer. I am still laughing so hard tears are rolling down my cheek. He starts panicking now, “Are you laughing or crying? I can’t tell if you are okay!”
“I’m okay. There was a huge spider in my glove,” I say smiling at the irony. I use the gloves to fight my phobia of spiders. We look around and see Olivier’, our orange tabby, pawing playfully at the huge spider that almost gave me a heart attack. We both break out laughing as I get up and check to see if I have any broken bones. Turns out it is only my pride that is damaged.
I love living here. I still have more fears to face, but that has never stopped me from learning. May you never lose hope, and may peace find you wherever you go.
Jacqueline White-Ivey
Tap on picture of my book and it will take to my Amazon author page where you can buy my novel, Treatment in America: Her Life Matters.
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