Oh, for Goodness Snakes!

Oh, for Goodness Snakes!

Oh, for Goodness Snakes!


Remember how I was all, “Oh my, but it’s grand to live amongst God’s creatures” in this post?

Was I insane?

It was 70º out yesterday afternoon. Perfect weather, in my book, and the deck was beckoning. I walked outside and plopped myself in a chair facing the sun with a juicy apple and a satisfied, “Ahhh . . .” I nearly enjoyed a single nanosecond of peace, until a pack of carpenter bees roughly the size of blackbirds began taking turns trying to peck off my nose. They were dive-bombing me, coming at me from all sides, territorial suckers that they are. I know the males are the aggressors, and I also know that only the females sting and they tend to stay at home, but still, I’d like to see how relaxed you would be if a swarm of giant insects was attempting to three-man tackle you. Plus, I’m allergic to bee stings, so my dislike for the breed in general borders on hysteria.

Knowing I’m slightly brighter than bugs and therefore had a chance of outsmarting them, I ran into the house and out the front door to the porch where I had never seen any carpenter bees before. Surely I would find a few moments of peace in which to eat my apple there.

But then this happened.




That’s right. I almost stepped on the slippery sucker . . . in my flip flops . . . exposed toes and all!!!

Oh the horror!

I screamed, cursed inventively, and flung my apple into the depths of the boxwood bushes where it will suffer a slow, decaying death because I’ll be darned if I’m going to reach into that snake pit to extract it.

And now I’ve got a severe case of the heebie jeebies. I’m checking the floor every two minutes to make sure snakes haven’t somehow slithered their way into my home, because they’re sneaky like that. And find myself searching the shoe closet for steel-toed combat boots to pull on when I take the dog out.

Never fear. I’ll get over this trauma sooner or later. I’ll send one of my guys out there to root around, find, and capture that nasty serpent this afternoon so I can calm down again and actually enjoy my yard once more.

There’s a bright side to this story, however. I already know what I’m going to feature for next Wednesday’s “What Cooking” post.

How about a delicious new dish: serpentine stew with carpenter bee croutons.?




Written by Becky


  • Patty from MM says:

    Yikes! I would have had a heart attack – no joke! I am deathly afraid of snakes! The one good thing is that garter snakes eat insects, so your garden should be even better with his/her presence. BTW, when I was a child, my mom was called the snake killer of the neighborhood. Armed with a hoe and a pot of boiling water, she would chop up the snake and then dump the water into the snake hole. All our neighbors would call on her to rid their yard of garter snakes.

    • Becky says:

      Holy cow, Patty! As much as I’m skeeved by snakes, taking a hoe to them is not in my future. I just wish they’d be considerate and quietly go away.

  • Bonnie says:

    OMG! Becky, that’s one of my biggest fears–any buzzing insect and anything that slithers. You’re much braver than me. As much as I love being outside, one buzz and I’m dancing around my deck like a crazy woman and doing a bee line (no pun intended) to the safety of the house.

  • Kim says:

    Becky, Please keep the snakes over at your house 🙂

    • Becky says:

      Here’s the thing. These suckers are probably hiding under your bushes and sidewalks too, but we get complacent and don’t think about them, and that’s when they choose to slither out and remind us that they’re always there. Think about that next time you practice throwing with the kids on the lawn!

  • Heather says:

    I look forward to seeing the in-progress pictures of your new stew!

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About Me:

Hi! My name is Becky. I’m a mom, a wife, a friend, a writer, and a compulsive thinker. Don't invite me to a spa or to shop the day away, but rather, make me laugh, engage me in interesting conversation, play a game with me, or give me a cappuccino and homemade vanilla bean flan and I’m yours ‘til the cows come home.

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