House Under the Mountain…

When I was about 12 we lived in a house at the base of a small Oklahoma mountain. A long, narrow, gravel road wound its way from the highway back a mile to our house in the trees. Dad actually purchased this place thinking he was going to cease the gypsy life, settle down and raise his family in one place. He had come across a great deal, (so it seemed at the time), trading the sign painting business for construction, and was now the proud owner of a business, complete with backhoes, work vehicles, and a half-built house in the woods. There was no indoor plumbing or running water, but we did have a snake-infested pond about 300 yards down a half-assed path where we cautiously filled buckets with water for basic needs. We were always warned to wear shoes and watch for snakes, which I could never seem to do.

Snake Encounters….

Shortly after moving there, Randy and I had filled buckets and were headed back up the path to the house. As usual, I had no shoes on and was  busy trying not to slosh water instead of watching for snakes.  Naturally, I stepped right on one. After shrieking like a girl, (Randy, not me), and dancing a crazy jig, (that was me!), we proceeded to drop the water buckets and start grabbing rocks off a pile beside the path to pummel the poor, startled snake. “Smart move,” you’re thinking, “that’s exactly what I would do.” Except, in snake country, it’s kind of an oxymoron to pick up rocks to pound one snake while uncovering another snake in the process. That was a lesson learned quick and well.

Tons of Sh…Potential.

The house was just rough built to start with and had been left untouched for several years, so was in dire need of TLC. “Tons of amazing potential”, to quote Dad. “A piece of shit in the middle of nowhere,” to quote Mom, who had a houseful or adventurous kids and a tiny baby to boot! I’m pretty sure the last thing she really wanted to do was move into a backwoods, unfinished shack, miles from town, with no indoor plumbing, but with “tons of potential”. But Mom was nothing if not resourceful. She made every place we ever lived feel like home, and this place was no exception. I think about it today and realize Dad really took advantage of that. Lucky for him she was game to follow him into any crazy adventure, even if her gut was screaming, “No!”

Potential….for Harm

There was plenty of potential here alright, if you were talking about potential for harm. The place was rife with dangerous critters. It was red dirt, rock, dust and trees. We quickly realized that snakes were possibly the least of our worries. At least they stayed away from the hubbub, for the most part, but the same couldn’t be said for scorpions, tarantulas, a plethora of spiders, red wasps, coyotes, mountain lions, and random wild creatures from the woods that popped in for visits regularly. Not to mention, we were only a few miles from a hardcore prison and Mom worried about escapees stopping by for visits as well.

Blackberries Gone Wild….

I remember it was a long way up the gravel road to the bus stop. I use the term “road” lightly here. It was, in fact, more like two ruts held together with the most determined crabgrass known to man. Down one side, for the full half-mile trek, was a fence completely covered with blackberry vines. Inside the fence, the entire field was covered with blackberry bushes, their vines all entwined and growing together into one massive blackberry mess, making it impossible to tell where, or if, there were ever actual rows to walk between, or if these were simply wild berries gone crazy. A force of nature left for years to grow out of control.

The berries in summer were big, plump, purple and juicy! Just waiting for grubby, eager little kids to pluck and devour. But sadly, that was not to be. We were instructed, in no uncertain terms, to STAY AWAY from that side of the road.

Snakes…Again…

As earlier mentioned, this was snake country and they took great pleasure in claiming it. Especially the blackberry field. It only took a sniff of the air or a rustle under a bush, or the rattle of a tail to tell us the berries weren’t worth it. The field, underneath the bushes, was crawling with snakes all the time, even when the berries weren’t in bloom.  We could smell the musky stench walking to and from the bus stop. And we always stayed in “our” rut on the far side of the road. Another lesson learned quickly.

I think Mom must have done a lot of praying while we lived there. We were literally in a “snake den”, but not one child ever got bit. We did learn a lot about, and how to live with, them though; which ones lived in the pond, (water moccasin) – slap the water with a board first to scare him off before dipping your pail in; which ones would be curled under the stack of boards behind the house, (rattlesnake) – lift the board with a long stick, never your hands; which snake is a “good”snake, despite what your mother says, (black or king) – don’t kill him, he eats other snakes; and the most dangerous snake of all, the dreaded “water-headed copper moccasin”! This was any snake we couldn’t immediately identify and he usually got shot. Dad was patient, we kids were curious and amazed, and Mom just wanted them all dead!

 

Speaking of Snakes and Blackberries…

Dad finds a way…

Dad couldn’t stand seeing all those blackberries going to waste on the vine when they could be in a pie or on his toast in the morning. So, being the ingenious man he was, he soon came up with a plan to harvest them, snakes or no snakes.

Backhoe to the rescue…

Dad had recently become the proud owner of a couple of backhoes and he decided to use one for something other than digging a ditch. He would simply put us kids in the front loader bucket, each with a pail of our own, lower us down over the top of the patch and we could proceed to pick all the fat, juicy berries we could reach without worrying about the snakes down under the bushes.

My mental picture:

     I’m 12 years old, Randy is 14, and Rick is about 8. To “assure” our safety, we sit cross-legged in the front bucket, plastic pails in our laps, lined up like three little monkeys, ready to follow our dad into the next great adventure. If Daddy says it’s safe, who are we to doubt?  He raises us high in the air and bounces away down the gravel road to the beginning of the blackberry field. He turns cross-wise at the end of the road, tilts the bucket back, causing us all to tumble around inside, squealing with delight, and gently begins to lower us over the berry patch. Randy is peeping over the edge, giving up/down thumb signals as Dad positions us just so. The musky smell is strong now and there is much rustling and hissing, as the rumble tumble sounds of the backhoe has aggravated the sleeping snakes. But Fear Not! Dad assures us the snakes are too far below to reach us and we should just “get to picking”. 

Apparantly it never occurred to him, and certainly not to us, that snakes CAN CLIMB!!

I’ve thought of that little berry picking escapade many times and never realized until now that I can only remember doing it once. My best guess is that Mom wasn’t home when that adventure happened. I’m sure when she was through with Dad that day, he probably never had a craving for blackberries again.

Dad, like so many other great dads, sometimes got caught up in the adventure and didn’t always see the potential danger, but I loved his blind faith that God always protected his family. And I’m so thankful that my mother loved, trusted, and tolerated the crazy risks he took in life. No doubt she wore calluses on her knees praying for protection.