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A Black Rat Snake
I have not picked up a snake since junior high when I was old enough to begin working and the days playing in streams and ponds pretty much came to an end. It’s not something one forgets. And today, there was a black rat snake in the garden (Note: they are harmless and eat small rodents.)
By the time I noticed what was going on, it he snake was completely terrified from having been pulled out from under some heavy farm equipment with a rake. The goal was to bring it to the woods behind the garden, but first to make sure it did not get caught in the machinery.
I invited myself into the fray, gently and securely held the snake about an inch below its head, invited its release from below the rake, and then gave it my other arm for it to wrap around, and it hugged me around my back and to the top of the arm that was holding its head.
Someone else opened the garden gate and I went into the trees and released it into the underbrush. I doubt it helped that I talked softly to it, acknowledging its fear, and apologizing for dislocating it.
It felt like an honor to have this short dance. The musky odor was not so nice; I also appreciated it as a very cool super power.
Grandma Rose’s Philodendron
The other day, when I was in NY visiting, I told my mother about the blog entry on Robert’s dendrobium. (Being physically present and discussing the blog entries is the low-tech way of getting comments). She pointed to the philodendron and some cuttings she was rooting from it and said, “that philodendron was your grandmother Rose’s; it must be 70 years old.” It might not be 70 years old, but it is at least 40 or 50, as my grandmother left her body in 1977, and I remember her having houseplants. It is possible, even, that the plant originally came from a cutting from my other grandmother, as that was how we obtained and grew most of the family houseplants.
My mother offered the plant for me to take home. I declined, but thought about taking a cutting. By the next morning, I had forgotten, but I will take a cutting one day. I did not need the cutting to enjoy thinking about bringing home a bit of life that had been living in my grandmother’s apartment and remembering both my grandmother and a space that I had loved. That was delightful enough.
(ps — one of the many reasons for the name “rose garden yoga” is in honor of my grandmothers — for my grandmother Rose’s name and for the love of gardening I learned from my grandmother Ann).






