Carlile Farms was split almost in half by a pretty big creek that still flows over 300 gal. per minute. The side across the creek from the house was always known by the family as "across the creek". When grandpa farmed with mules, he would cross the creek in a narrow shallow spot. He would leave the barn and walk behind the mules about a mile and a half to get to the back side of his property. If he needed grannie to help that day, she would walk also. When he got his first tractor he was able to ride, but grannie did not trust his driving and continued to walk. Not me, I would sit on the left fender, because all the controls were on the right side. I don't know what she was afraid of, he drove so slow that she was always ahead of us.
The land sloped downhill to the creek and the old road was pretty rutted up with some good sized holes and grown up with dog fennels. A perfect snake habitat. Near the bottom of the hill, the road was lower than the sides and large oak trees with moss hanging down from the branches lined each side. The dappled light provided some cool shade that refreshed us all. At the bottom you could go to the pasture on the left or continue on to the creek by going to the right. Since the road split there it was wider and a little more clean since the sand had washed down the hill and settled there.
This particular day was hot and dry. Grannie was so miserable that she was fussing about something that grandpa had done. She was a kind woman, but had a hair-trigger temper. I wasn't concerned though, because it was grandpa's turn today. All of a sudden that old black snake picked that particular time to cross her path. I always thought she was old, but she was younger then than I am now. So she was able to whip that hoe off her shoulder and pin that snake's tail to the ground before he could get out of the way. She always carried a hoe with her to the field. The snake was long enough that when he stretched out he could almost touch her, but she was not about to let that happen. When he lunged straight, she turned to the side, when he went to the left, she went to the right, when he went to the right, she went to the left. When he went high, she ducked, when he went low, she raised her foot. Never once did she turn that hoe loose. Grandpa was yelling at her to kill it or turn it loose, but she was deaf and could not hear him. She was also stubborn and probably would not have listened to him, even if she could. I was amazed and sat there dumbfounded, listening to the soft strains of the Tennessee Waltz playing somewhere in the background.
When the snake realized that he was no match for grannie, he relaxed and lay down on the ground to catch his breath. Grannie told him, when I remove this hoe from your tail and you come at me again, your next dance will be with the devil. As he slithered off, she told me that was a Black Runner.
Grandpa's approach to snakes was quite different. Most of the time that they looked after me, I would stay in the field with him. At mid-morning, I was tired from walking since early that morning. He would plow the mule and I would follow along behind him in the peanut field. The Woods were off to my left about 30' from where we were. The peanuts were lapped together in the middle and about as thick as a field of kudzu. I was a sleep boy walking, when all of a sudden he yelled....Snake, go to the edge of the field. I probably stepped over 3 on the way there, but if I had not done as he said, there would be heck to pay. He never slowed down; if the snake did not bite him, he did not have time to fool with it. Following him in that field kept me out of trouble, but made me think that there must be an easier way to make a living.
