A Serpent in the Garden

     "Daddy, Daddy, there's a snake on the front porch!"
     Not exactly the thing you want to hear your young daughter scream hysterically on an otherwise peaceful, sunny Saturday morning.

     Sidebar. Is there anything you want to hear her scream hysterically, ever? Maybe that she's getting married to a guy you approve of when she's somewhere in her mid twenties?

     I hate snakes. In fact, I can't think of anything I like about them. Maybe that Moses held up a serpent as a symbol of the Savior, but beyond that . . .
     But dads have to be tough, and have to protect their families, so out I go. Sure enough, there's a very long black snake wrapped into the branches of the shrub just outside our front door.

     Here's the extent of my knowledge of snakes: Some of them are poisonous, some of them are not. Some of the non-venomous ones are still lethal. I don't know how to tell the difference, unless I see or hear a rattle. Yup, that's pretty much it. And no rattle on this one.

     Somewhere along the line I got the idea that I should respect all life and only kill it if absolutely necessary. I think Joseph Smith made that point during the Zion's Camp march. In fact, I believe the animal in question was even a snake. But, see, I sometimes have this problem with black and white vs. gray.
    I go to the garage (through the house, not on the sidewalk past the shrub) and get a shovel and a pitchfork and a plastic storage bucket. I'm thinking I'll try to catch it and then take it somewhere far away and let it go.

    I know, I know. That's black and white when the circumstances call for gray.

    So I poke it with the shovel to get it out of the bush, and it starts slithering through the garden while I try to get the shovel under it and flip it up into the plastic box. When it stretches out, it's well over five feet long.

     I know: Stupid. And remember, I said I don't know which ones are dangerous.

     It gets around a taller bush and starts sliding along the top of a retaining wall on the side of the house. My adrenaline is rushing, and I'm worried it's getting away. I race around below the wall and it's now slinking off the wall into a bush below.

     New piece of information about snakes. They climb trees. And not just the pythons like in The Jungle Book movie.

     Now it's out of the bush and gliding through the too-tall grass in the back yard which the boys have procrastinated cutting. I'm throwing the box on its side in front of it now, trying to steer it into the box with no success. I poke at it with the shovel. It rears up and hisses. Did I already mention adrenaline? Times ten. I'm in a battle now, and keenly aware of my mortality. And there's my daughter standing on the hill watching me. I'm beginning to think this was all a very bad idea. I should have known better than to tangle with a snake.
     But I'm thinking of my kids playing in this yard, and their friends coming over, and I'm not about to leave something potentially lethal like this back there. So back into the fray. Probe and feint, block it's path with the box and the shovel. It's a frenetic, dangerous dance. And then I have a clear shot. Out goes the shovel. And up. And I have it hanging over the end. Drop it in the box and slap the lid on.
     And take a deep breath. And another. Drink in the relief.
     Now what to do with it? I don't want to just pick it up and carry it. The fit of the lid doesn't inspire that much confidence. Get the wheelbarrow. Quickly lift the box into the barrow. Take some more deep breaths. Reassure my daughter that everything's all right. And no, she can't go get all her friends to come over. And then . . .
     A slippery, scaly head between the box and the lid. And before I know it, 12-15 inches also out. What to do now? Block it with the shovel? Too late! It's out. And racing for the back end of the yard and the creek. I can't let it get away to return whenever it wants. Immediately black and white is applied to a different problem. Now it's life and death and protection. I'm done playing. This thing is going down, and fast, before it can get to the creek.
     Wham! I bring the shovel head down on it just behind the head to little effect. Of course, the grass is very muddy and it's a square shovel. Angle the shovel and strike again! It's slowed. Again! It's now badly damaged but still not dead.

     It's definitely time for those French drains in the back yard. Can't be having this squishy ground when I need a firm surface to catch the blade of my makeshift guillotine.

     Now lifting it into the box is a little easier. It's not trying to get away. Box in the wheelbarrow, push it up the hill back to the front yard. Not sure I want to dump it out again to sever the head completely. Frozen with indecision.
    Not so my daughter. She sees a friend a couple doors up the road and runs to get him to come see. Looking after her I see my next door neighbor and figure he might know more about snakes than I do. I go over and ask him to come ID the thing. He says it's a Black snake, not poisonous, but he always kills them. "Do you find them often?" I ask. Often enough. He always tosses the carcass into the creek for the resident hawk to feast on. But he agrees this is a big one.
    The kids are here and wanting to look at it and he suggests I quickly chop the head off, but don't let the kids watch. So I send them away for a bit. Dump the snake from the box, take the regular shovel, and off with its head. Neighbor was right. The kids might have been creeped out to see the snake keep twitching and writhing even without a head.
     All that's left now is the cleanup. Toss it on the side of the creek bed. Kind of hard to aim five feet of swaying muscle. It didn't land where I wanted; I'm not sure the hawk will be able to see it. But nothing I can do without wading down into the weeds and grasses, and I'm not about to walk into that danger zone right after finishing this battle. There are limits to my stupidity.

     Flash forward a few weeks. I always eye that bush by the front porch when I walk out. I'm aware of various places in the yard where similar threats might lurk. I wish to be blissfully unaware again of the potential dangers in my good spot of ground, but can't fully block them out of my thoughts.
     I'm reminded of other dangers that lurk and invade our gardens and homes. I realize I'm somewhat ignorant of them as well, and perhaps not properly equipped to fight and expel them should they appear in my Eden. I try to build walls, but I'm conscious that serpents are cunning, and can find ways through, around, and under any walls I build. Still I try to build them.
     And I'm ever more aware of the need to rely on my Heavenly Father and my Savior. After all, they banished the serpent with their power. And though he has power to bruise our heels, we can have power to crush his head. The Savior has overcome death, and His miraculous power can protect His followers from even the serpent's venom.
    So I must tend my garden, and tame it. And prepare it--and myself--that I may walk with Him in the garden in the cool of the day. In His garden.