Spring is — er — springing to life all over the place. On my lawn, the first fresh green tendrils of crabgrass are beginning to bravely peek through the dead leftover leaves. Cracks in the driveway are starting to sprout with joyful weeds that look so healthy they might eventually grow legs and walk around. In other words, everything is normal.
It won’t surprise you to hear that I’ve never been overly fond of yard work, but in certain other ways I grew up as somewhat of a nature boy. I was thinking about that recently while watching a TV show that featured snakes. As a boy I was always happy that Spring had arrived because then I could tromp the woods and look for the scaled little critters. You see, I fancied myself a herpetologist. (That’s an expert in reptiles and amphibians — not someone who studies cold sores.)
I’ve written before about my snake-loving days so I won’t go on and on, but I was thinking specifically of the time I thought I had caught a record snake. It was a bright green snake, a small type that comes in two varieties, according to my handy-dandy little pocket snake book. After I got it safely home I began to read more about it and I also measured it (which is a little tricky). I don’t remember all the numbers now, but I do remember that it was several inches longer than what the book listed as that type’s maximum.
I was sure I had a record snake, but didn’t know what to do about it. As it turned out, it didn’t matter. My little sister took it to school one day and at some point it slithered away.