'In the end it's not the years in your life that count. It's the life in your years.'
- Abraham Lincoln -

Sunday, May 13, 2012

It's Opening Day On Stoney Lonesome Farm!

Yesterday was the day - now an annual event - when I ATV back to where I keep my mower deck in the winter and remove the tarp, getting ready to mow the fields.  Why is this an event?  Because every year, I take the tarp away and photograph the snake(s) living underneath.

So yesterday I took the tarp off and ... nothing.

But wait.  What's that tucked inside the fold?  (Click on the images to enlarge them.)

There's the little rascal:

And he ain't happy.

Somehow he decided that that was HIS (her?) mower deck.

It took more than a bit of coaxing to dissuade him of the notion.

(I should mention, for those who wonder why I don't just shoot the little bastard, I live by the "mutual coexistence" standard.  They eat rodents and bugs - and, yes, baby birds, more on that in a second - and I'm in favor of them eating rodents and bugs.  And they leave me alone.  So ...)

Finally, I hook up the mower to my tractor and I'm heading back west along the fence line, when I look over at a bluebird box that I'd built a while back ...

... and darned if there wasn't a snake there with his head sticking out, looking at me.

I think there had been a nest of sparrows in the box.  Operative words being "had been."

At the end of the day, I pulled the tractor into the shed, looked up, and saw another snake in the rafters above my head.  (No photo this time; it was a tad too dark.)

Mutual coexitence is one thing, but geeeeezzz.

- - -

While I'm on the subject, I might mention - those three snakes were all black snakes (4 to 7 feet long).  I can deal with them.  But while I was replacing fence posts last weekend, I happened to look down at my boots, and saw one of these bad boys curled up in the tall grass about a foot from my big toe:

Black snakes are cute and cuddly.  Copperheads on the other hand ...

With a gentle nudge, he too wandered off to frighten the bejeebers out of someone else, hopefully on a farm far, far away.

I love Spring.