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Texas Agriculture Archive

November 18, 2005

"Ah'm ready for some snake retreatin' weather," my husband announced, mopping beads of sweat from his upper lip with his shirt tail. "Ah'd lahk to see a cold snap roll in here an' send 'em all scootin' to thur hidey holes for winter."

Mel prefers cold weather to hot, and he's getting a little impatient with the way the heat has lingered into the late fall here in Central Texas.

We recalled a number of instances over the years where we had close encounters with rattlesnakes.

"'Member 'at monster rattler we used to call Methuselah? Ah seen him two er three tahms over th' years thur on the ranch at Cranfills Gap. He had to been old. Mighta been the serpent in the Garden o' Eden...First tahm Ah seen him, Ah mistook him for a culvert pipe, stretched across th' road from one ditch to th' other. Made ol' Pete th' Python look like a punified earthworm. 'At rattler wuz plumb fat, an' stiff as a poker, lahk he'd swallered a telephone pole. Once't, a trahd to run over him. Man, whut a speed bump! Skidded mah tahrs an' didn't eben faze him. Ol' Methuselah jist kiney reared up an' give me a backards glance, an' flicked his tail lahk he wuz swattin' at a flah. Ah swear, 'at snake had more rattles than Ol' Green an' more buttons than a Confederate general! Fangs big as elephants' tusks. You cudda made a passel o' belts, an' wallets, some size 13 D boots, an' still had enough hahd left to reupholster the livin'room furniture. Coulda rendered enough lard from 'im to fill a tanker truck."

I sure am glad my husband isn't prone to exaggeration. Otherwise, it could have traumatized a fellow who had recently moved to Texas and was terrified of rattlesnakes. Mel felt obliged to warn the poor transplant on the many ways to "snake proof" his country home.

"You kin git this repellant down at the feed store that comes in a can that looks sump'n lahk Bab O cleanser. You sprankle it aroun' th' perimeter of yore yard, an' they won't cross it. Course, yore in a heap o' trouble if the snake's INSAHD 'at lahn once't you scatter it," Mel cackled.

The man was a bachelor, so Mel invited him over for a home cooked meal. He borrowed my brother's life-like, mounted rattler—all coiled up and poised to strike—and placed it in the flowerbed near the front door. Once the newcomer recovered from the shock, Mel unnerved our dinner guest with one of those clever cans of rattle snake eggs that buzz and shake like crazy when disturbed. Then he drug out his collection of rattles harvested from snakes over the years, and his stove pipe shin protectors. Told the neighbor he'd be smart to wear those any time he left the house, whether he was mending fence or simply walking to the mail box," Mel said. "Years ago, thur wuz this kid over near Blum that got out to open a gate an' got bit by a big ol' rattler. He got released from the hospital. Came home, got out to open the gate an' got bit agin by the same snake."

"Gosh," the guy exclaimed. "Bet you have to be extra careful not to get snakebit with so many gates to open and shut here on your place."

"Not a bit," Mel said. "That's the reason Ah married ol' Lana."