Monthly Archives: August 2018

The rain train

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Over three days from Tuesday through Thursday we got about four and three-quarters of an inch of rain. It was a lot of rain, but fortunately it didn’t fall in a huge downpour. We had some fairly steady rain, but it didn’t wash away everything I had done to get grass seeded in the front yard. Earlier rain had done that already.

The rain came in what the weather guys called a rain train. There were bands of rain that usually move perpendicular to the length of the band, but in this case moved along the direction of the length, if you get what I mean. Here’s a radar image of some of it.

All that rain marched up from the bottom left of the image to the upper right over a period of hours.

So, Saturday, after two days of no rain, I went out to look for sprouting grass. I found a little in one small part of the yard, but nothing in the largest part of the yard. Not a single sprout in most of the yard. It’s possible that some may show up in other areas, but it’s also possible there will be none. I’ll keep watering (actually, sprinkling) and hope for the best. I’ll also hope for some more rain.

101

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Today, Thursday, August 2, 2018, is the 101st anniversary of my father’s birth. He died 18 years ago.

It has seemed for some time, and more so today, that my life is divided into at least two parts: before my father’s death, and after my father’s death. All the things that happened to me in the before time seem to have happened to a different person in a different world. But it all seems as real and as recent as yesterday.

When Leah and I visited Henry’s wife a few weeks ago, she brought out a metal fishing tackle box filled with memorabilia. My brother had taken it to his home when we cleaned out our parents’ house after my mother died.

A lot of stuff in the box is military. There are shoulder patches for the Army divisions he served in, Army branch insignia (artillery and infantry), rank pins (first and second lieutenant, major, lieutenant colonel — there should be captain’s bars somewhere but I didn’t see it). His dog tags are in there, as well as his service ribbons. The paper on the right is my father’s 6th grade report card for the 1928-29 session. He made pretty good grades. The paper at the top is my mother’s application for a position with the federal government on September 23, 1943. She had already been working for the War Production Board in Washington DC prior to that.

There is also a statement from McCall Hospital dated May 22, 1950. It’s the bill for my birth, a total of $72.50 for the delivery and four days in the hospital ($40 at $10 a day for board and nursing, $10 for operating room expense). My father’s Post Office insurance paid all but $20.

There are a couple of pin-on badges that my parents wore back in the late 1950’s or early 1960’s when they square danced. The badges say “Circle 8”, but I remember their square dancing group as the Western Promenaders. They danced at Rome’s old civic center, built in the 1930’s. When Leah and I drive to our current vet’s office, we pass a building with a sign for the Western Promenaders, so they seem to still be in business.

A careful examination of the photograph will reveal a Nazi lapel pin, one of my father’s war souvenirs. I wonder who wore it.

The hand-drawn and colored map of South America was done by my father sometime in his school years.

Everything is an artifact. Going through them is an exercise in archeology, digging not only into the objects themselves, but also into my own memories, and even into times before I was born.

Snake fatalities

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Snakes of any sort don’t survive long around here if they venture onto a road. Some people make a special effort to run over them. That was the case for this relatively young copperhead the dogs and I found a few days ago right at the bottom of our driveway.

It was recently deceased.

A few days later the dogs started acting a little strange on our walk down Fouche Gap Road. Zeke had crossed the shallow ditch and was meandering along when he stopped. At first I couldn’t figure out why, but then I noticed this rattlesnake in the ditch.

The head is at the lower, central part of the image, next to a leaf. Immediately below the head you can see the rattles. I count around 12, which does not, however, indicate its age in years, only that it has shed its skin 12 times. As far as I can tell, this is a timber or canebrake rattler. I didn’t see any obvious wounds, but it was almost certainly hit by a car.

The dogs were curious about the copperhead, but they gave it a wide berth. They didn’t want to get anywhere near the rattler. I don’t know whether they have any instinctive fear of snakes. I do know that they are usually wary of anything out of the ordinary, so that alone might account for their apparent fear.

As we walked back up the driveway after seeing the copperhead, I passed right over a green snake about a foot and a half long. I must have assumed it was one of the many weed seed fronds I pull up and throw onto the driveway. I don’t think the dogs noticed it, either. Then Zeke nosed it and it began to twist and writhe its way off the driveway into the tall grass, where it promptly disappeared.

I have seen a fair number of snakes on the mountain, from nice, long black snakes to garter snakes, but never a live venomous snake. Our little community is isolated among miles of forest. Except for the immediate community up here on the mountain, our nearest neighbor is around a mile away on one side and two or three miles away on the other side. I am certain that there are many, many rattlers and copperheads in our woods, but they must be shy, because they do not show themselves.

On the other hand, I might simply have missed them in my rambles in the woods. I snagged the dead copperhead with a stick to toss it into the woods for a proper resting place. The first try put it at the side of the road, among the leaf litter, sparse grass, pinestraw, bare dirt and vines. It disappeared. I knew it had to be there, but I couldn’t see it. I eventually found it. It was not covered, it simply blended so well with the background that it was very difficult to see.

So maybe I have stepped right next to a rattlesnake or a copperhead and never knew it.