I thought you might enjoy reading a chapter of Papa's Journal. The one I choose is about Copperhead snakes and a couple of close encounters that my Dad had as a boy. Papa's book is full of stories like the one below. You can Read them all in his book available on the right sidebar of this blog. Enjoy!
Chapter Fifteen
The Copperhead
Copperhead snakes were prevalent in our area. Usually Dad and the
men would kill several every year. Once I was playing in a patch of
woods while my folks worked in the field nearby. I think they might
have been chopping cotton. Suddenly I spotted a big Copperhead
snake, moving slowly towards me. I begin to back up from him as he
came closer. Then I discovered a second Copperhead nearby and
crawling towards me. I gave out a yell for my dad. He heard my cry
for help and came running. As he entered the woods he picked up two
rocks about the size of two fists. Holding a rock in each hand he came
to where I stood. The snakes were near by and did not retreat at his
presence. He cut down at one snake with a rock. Wham! He took him
and the snake was crushed. Wham! He took the second snake and
crushed him too. That had to be divine guidance for those rocks.
About half of our old log house was sitting virtually flat on
the ground, seeming making it a heaven for snakes; however, we
never had a problem until one summer morning. Our front room or
living room consisted of a heater, library table, another fancy table,
several chairs (rockers and straight), Mom and Dad’s bed, and my
half size bed. After Fagin married I would not sleep in the extra room
alone, so Mom put a half bed near theirs. Then we all slept in the
same room. One morning before daylight, Mom was waking up
to start her day. She sat up on the side of her bed next to the wall,
placing her feet on the floor. She turned on the flash light which was
pointed toward and shined on the wall in front of her. Her peripheral
vision noted the bulk of something piled up in the floor to her left and
at the foot of her bed. Turning the light on the subject, there was a
large Copperhead coiled up on the floor which instantly begin to
slowly raise upwards toward the beam of light. Mom jumped up on
the bed and yelled for Dad to wake up. Quickly he awoke and saw the
snake. Now the front door of the room, over which Dad kept his double
barrel 12 gauge hanging, was directly in line with the door to the
kitchen. The snake was lying almost in the center of the kitchen door
opening. Mom’s new Florence wood range stove was in direct line
with the door opening. Mom held the light on the snake which continued
to uncoil and raise upward. Dad took the gun from the rack
and fired one shell at the snake. Blowing his head clean off as if it was
cut with a knife and into a zillion bits of bloody meat. Not a single
shot touched the stove. The pattern of shot scooped out a place in the
old hardwood floor about the size of one’s hand, then ricocheted up
into the paper ceiling in the kitchen. You want to know the strange
part? I never woke up from the gun shot and didn’t know what had
happened until Mom got me up at my usual get up time.
Copperhead snakes were prevalent in our area. Usually Dad and the
men would kill several every year. Once I was playing in a patch of
woods while my folks worked in the field nearby. I think they might
have been chopping cotton. Suddenly I spotted a big Copperhead
snake, moving slowly towards me. I begin to back up from him as he
came closer. Then I discovered a second Copperhead nearby and
crawling towards me. I gave out a yell for my dad. He heard my cry
for help and came running. As he entered the woods he picked up two
rocks about the size of two fists. Holding a rock in each hand he came
to where I stood. The snakes were near by and did not retreat at his
presence. He cut down at one snake with a rock. Wham! He took him
and the snake was crushed. Wham! He took the second snake and
crushed him too. That had to be divine guidance for those rocks.
About half of our old log house was sitting virtually flat on
the ground, seeming making it a heaven for snakes; however, we
never had a problem until one summer morning. Our front room or
living room consisted of a heater, library table, another fancy table,
several chairs (rockers and straight), Mom and Dad’s bed, and my
half size bed. After Fagin married I would not sleep in the extra room
alone, so Mom put a half bed near theirs. Then we all slept in the
same room. One morning before daylight, Mom was waking up
to start her day. She sat up on the side of her bed next to the wall,
placing her feet on the floor. She turned on the flash light which was
pointed toward and shined on the wall in front of her. Her peripheral
vision noted the bulk of something piled up in the floor to her left and
at the foot of her bed. Turning the light on the subject, there was a
large Copperhead coiled up on the floor which instantly begin to
slowly raise upwards toward the beam of light. Mom jumped up on
the bed and yelled for Dad to wake up. Quickly he awoke and saw the
snake. Now the front door of the room, over which Dad kept his double
barrel 12 gauge hanging, was directly in line with the door to the
kitchen. The snake was lying almost in the center of the kitchen door
opening. Mom’s new Florence wood range stove was in direct line
with the door opening. Mom held the light on the snake which continued
to uncoil and raise upward. Dad took the gun from the rack
and fired one shell at the snake. Blowing his head clean off as if it was
cut with a knife and into a zillion bits of bloody meat. Not a single
shot touched the stove. The pattern of shot scooped out a place in the
old hardwood floor about the size of one’s hand, then ricocheted up
into the paper ceiling in the kitchen. You want to know the strange
part? I never woke up from the gun shot and didn’t know what had
happened until Mom got me up at my usual get up time.
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