Forget snakes on a plane, in Virginia it was snakes at the river and snakes on the farm

I don't like snakes – never have – never will. I'm sure that stems from my years as a child in Virginia.

When we stayed at the cabin on the Potomac River there was no end to the snake sightings and I frankly wasn't as terrified as I am as an adult, but I sure steered clear of them.

Once, when running in my bare feet down the hill to go swimming off the pier, my foot landed on one just as he was exiting his hole. I slammed him back into the hole and I'm sure he was not a happy camper. But I was out of there quick as a whip before he could find me.

Another time, when the corn crops were still being planted and growing between our cabin and the river bluff – probably about 150 feet or so, you were assured the crops were a haven for snakes. My dad had to dispose of the trash in a spot on the bluff and consequently had to carry the rubbish through the cornfields. Now my Dad was a Missouri boy, son of a farmer and he grew up around snakes – however – he hated them as much as I did, though he could deal with them out of necessity.

This particular time, as Dad approached the cabin, he hollered to us that he thought he'd disturbed a den of snakes by accident and not to be surprised if one or more followed him back to the cabin. Sure enough, within minutes there was a very long – probably 9- or 10-foot – black snack standing on end right between the two trees where our laundry hung. It was staring at the four of us, who were standing inside the screened in porch staring back at him. Guess he/she had come to defend her young ones.

That snake remained there for hours and hours as did we. None of us moved. But we'd all sworn that if it went under the cabin, we were jumping in the car and not coming back – but it never moved from it's spot between the trees.  Eventually, our friend Lee from down the hill, came home from running errands and we hollered to him about our predicament. He grabbed his shotgun – yes – laughing the entire time he climbed the hill, and shot the snake and disposed of it.

That's one nasty memory that still burns a hole into my eyes.

Since my dad had been the minister at the Episcopal Church in Fredericksburg in the 1950s, when we returned to the area for our vacations, the church folk would have their summer picnic up at the river at the picnic tables that lined the little grassy area between the corn fields and Lee's property.  When I was 5, they had one such picnic.

There was a small stream that ran alongside Lee's cottage, water frontage and the picnic tables that emptied into the Potomac. Everyone was preparing to eat the delicious potluck meal when suddenly, I heard people screaming and saw them running in all directions. I had no idea what was going on, but I heard my mother's voice above everyone else's – screaming for me to stand still and not move an inch. By now, I was one of the few people still standing on the grass – everyone else was on the picnic tables.

It seemed an entire family/colony/group of snakes – I have no idea what kind, but was later told they were poisonous – had slithered out of the cornfields, bypassed all the parked cars and were headed for the creek.

I did as I was told and stood still, legs apart, and remember one large snake slithering between my feet as it headed for that creek. I never got bit and I know my mother hugged me extra hard after that incident.

Thank goodness it never occurred to me that the creek to which the snakes had slithered into, emptied into the Potomac, for I was quite fond of swimming in the river.

One of my favorite places near Fredericksburg was the Myers' farm called Ringgold, located just outside of Fredericksburg and off the country road we took to get to King George County.

I loved going to the Myers farm. They had a horse and cows, a great dog named Bullet and a horse named Mac. I loved horses and always wanted to go for a ride. Their son, Bobby, who was probably 10 or more years older than I, always graciously gave me a lift on Mac when he was home and I was visiting.

Clyde and Virginia's daughter, Barbara, was also older than I and someone I adored. Like an older sister, she was someone I looked up to and followed around unceasingly.

I remember that there were always snake skins hanging from the rafters in some of the out buildings at the farm, especially where their cars were parked – we never parked anywhere but the driveway and never left our windows open.

On one visit when I was riding Mac with Bobby in the pasture, Bobby spotted a large snake near us and Mac reared up and smashed it with his hooves. My hero! According to Barb, Mac did the same for her one time when she was laying on the grass and he saw a snake near her.

But the piece de resistance was a trip my mother and I took back to Fredericksburg just before my high school graduation. Barb was already married and living elsewhere and Bobby was in the military. Mom and I went to visit Clyde and Virginia and while visiting, Clyde announced he had recently started to make wine in his cellar and did we want to see it?

Of course, said my Mother and I. However ... one had to go outside to get to the cellar steps. So we filed out of the kitchen and out the back door and headed down the cellar steps – first Clyde, then Mom and then me.  I was on the first step, about to step onto the second when I spied what appeared to be an 18" long copperhead sunning himself on the concrete step.

All I got out of my mouth was, "MOM!" In a split second she was up the steps and out into the back yard, tearing her clothes off piece by piece. I don't even know how she made it past the snake except Clyde said it was kind of dopey from laying in the sun and he'd never seen my mother move so fast.

Both Clyde and Virginia were howling with laughter as Mom kept stripping down, while Clyde grabbed a spade and killed the hapless snake. Mom informed me that she simply knew by the tone of my voice that there was a snake. She didn't like them either.

Unfortunately, that was probably our last trip out to Ringgold. I was headed to college in the fall and would only have one more trip to the river before I married my first husband. I remained in touch with the Myers until their deaths and with Barb unto this day.  The visits out to the farm remain among some of my happiest of childhood memories, despite the snakes – riding Mac, hanging with Clyde while he did his chores, following Barb around and listening to her mother's lilting southern accent that I can still conjure up if I try to hear it in my head.