Rattlesnakes and Roses

     One of my friends has graciously critiqued my writing and has suggested that I clarify the pronunciation of our name for non-family members who might have the patience to read this.  "Skjenna" is pronounced like "Shenna," also the name of one of our granddaughters in New Zealand (Shenna and Nissa Dunn are daughters of Kirsten and Shawn).
    It is snowing lightly here in Ottawa, but the temperature is now above freezing and there is no accumulation to speak of (another misplaced preposition).  I like the following quote:

From now on, ending a sentence with a preposition is something up with which I will not put.

Sir Winston Churchill

      However, as you can see, it is often rather awkward to follow, to the letter of the law, the rules of grammar.  The weather has been atypical for November and the predictions for the winter are for variable conditions – I hope that it will be fairly mild, but the scary part is that there is such a thing as an average temperature and snowfall which means we will probably have very cold weather later.  I recently purchased a faux fir winter hat – it has the appearance of something that should be fed and watered and requires a litter box and I have been mercilessly teased about it, the taunts falling on deaf, but warm, ears.
     Ok, back to storytelling or should I say, ramblings of an ageing man homesick for the massive sky and sense of freedom of wide open spaces on the Alberta prairie:  “Rattlesnakes and Roses” seems like a strange title, particularly as the two subjects do not appear at first glance to be related, but in some ways they are.  Remember that Alberta’s official flower is the Wild Rose.
     There are pictures that come to mind when reminiscing about childhood and one of these is the garden beside my Skjenna grandparent’s house on the farm – I wish I had photos of it but it sticks vividly in my mind.  During the war my grandmother laboriously gathered similar sized rocks – there are plenty of rocks around Buffalo – and, having painted them white, laid them out in the shape, mainly, of hearts.  In each heart she planted flowers, including a rose garden.  These little gardens were beautiful tributes to her sons and sons-in-law who were off to war.  Uncles Olaf, Oliver, Buster (Ragna’s husband) and Dad had all enlisted and were in the service of their country in harm’s way.  Grandma must have thought about them long and often and she sublimated her worry by burying herself in the travails of a farm wife and creating these miniature Eden's in her yard, providing splashes of  brightness on the otherwise colorless (in the heat of summer) prairie landscape.  That is not to say that the prairie is always dreary.  For example, in springtime the cactus flowers are red and orange like fire and there are bluebells and wild roses that are feasts to the eye and candy for the soul.  Before the  sun burnt the landscape and the relentless wind deposited dust over everything the grass was green and, in all seasons, the sagebrush was, and still is, a sort of bluish grey where it dotted the meadows, perfuming the air with its fragrance, especially after a rainfall.

September 2011

     I have always been interested in and rather liked rattlesnakes (Crotalis viridis) and other reptiles that inhabit the prairie. There are bull-snakes, that look for all the world like rattlers, and also grass snakes, these two being harmless.  There are even horned toads, actually a type of lizard, in southern Alberta. We were close enough to the Red Deer River that they occasionally wandered onto the farm property.  Farmers liked them because they preyed on gophers who dug burrows into which livestock could step and fracture a leg, but often killed the poor things if they were unlucky enough to be discovered.  It was seldom that they came near the house, but in August, they moulted and were not only blind, but were a tad cranky, actually very cranky.  They could not give a warning rattle and didn’t seem to be deterred by the noise of an approaching human, as they usually were, and it was easier to step on one with predictable and unfortunate results.  Our mother, when we lived in Bindloss (more later), would not allow us to play outside during moulting season as there we lived closer to the river and the snakes often wandered into our yard.
       My first encounter with one of these denizens was actually in my grandmother's rose garden as I was helping her pick weeds from around the bushes.  The meeting was rather brief as I didn’t hang around for more that a split second and one of the men dispatched it with a shovel.  Happily, rattlesnakes are now protected and you can be fined for killing one.

September 2011

     We also had to be careful when we were stooking the hay (not having the luxury of mechanical balers at that time) as the rattlers would take shelter under the hay and feast on the ever present field-mice that also sought refuge there.  One of the farmhands was not so cautious during one harvest and a rattler struck at him, the fangs lodging in his denim trousers (a.k.a blue jeans).  Imagine if you will, this lanky gentleman possessing a huge and fascinating Adam's Apple and had the appearance of Icabod Crane , from the “Headless Horseman,” hollering at the top of his lungs while he ran at full throttle across the field, fearful of stopping, and dragging the hapless rattler who seemed to be in hot pursuit, but which couldn’t detach itself from the pant-leg.  Everyone nearly died from laughter, rolling around in the stubble, and the tale has never been forgotten, still bringing tears to one’s eyes as this awesome picture is conjured up!!
     Years later, when I was seventeen, I had the “opportunity” of working for a pipeline company laying in pipe across the prairie northeast of Medicine Hat.  Machines would dig the ditches during the day and we would make certain that the pipe wrapping was intact toiling until around 2230 when it was too dark to work.  When there was enough light (usually about 0330) we would begin laying the pipe into the ditch and, when that was accomplished, repeat the entire process.  One of my jobs was to “swamp,” that is to run ahead in the ditch and remove any rocks or  shovel out cave-ins from the bottom.  During the night dozens of rattlesnakes would fall into the ditches and we had to be on constant lookout for them.  One hot and windless day, I was sent about five miles ahead of the rest of the crew into the sand-hills (like a desert, with dunes, desert vegetation, etc.) to clear out the cave-ins as there would be many due to the sandy soil.  Looking down into the ditch, which was over five feet deep, I spotted a large rock and I jumped down to get it out.  The rock had fallen out of the wall leaving a depression.  As I landed in the ditch, I heard a rattle and saw, to my horror, a large rattler in the depression.  There was an overhanging branch about 12 feet over my head and I leapt for it.  I missed the branch but caught it on the way down!! Seriously, there was no such branch as it is a figment of my Baron Munchausen like imagination and aids in the telling of the story, but I did find myself standing on the edge of the ditch, not knowing that it was possible to jump that high!  It is astonishing how adrenaline can impart such super-powers to an otherwise normal lad.  Unfortunately, I had to dispatch the snake in order to complete the task and I still have the rattles, kept, along with some arrowheads I found, in a wooden Norwegian salt dish.

Writing on Stone - habitat for many rattlers and there are warnings posted!

     Aside from some minor encounters, the next major sighting occurred in the valley along the South Saskatchewan river known to us as Dinosaur coulee.  We often went there to look for dinosaur bones and teeth.  This particular day, our two young sons and my father were with us.  I found a likely spot to dig and suggested that my younger son, Graham, explore there whereupon he seated himself upon a large rock.  He thought that he heard his grandfather spraying insect repellent as there was a distinct hissing sound.  However, the sound persisted and he got off the rock, thankfully on the sunny side, as the sound emanated from a large, beautiful rattler resting on the shady side who was, by no means, happy!  I figured that it would be educational to demonstrate to everyone how a rattler strikes and, knowing that they can only strike about one-third of their overall length, and figuring that the snake was about five feet long, I located a stick, rare in that coulee, about four feet long.  As I approached the rattler the stick seemed to shrink in my hands and the snake seemed to lengthen perceptibly.  Also I began to question my calculations of the probable striking distance of a snake – I clearly remembered that there was the number “3” in the equation, but couldn’t decide if that meant 1/3 or 3 times, so, not wanting to demonstrate the effects of envenomation, I retreated and we studied the reptile from a respectable distance.
     This past summer, we were driving with some friends west of Buffalo and I spotted a rattler on the road, where he was warming up on the pavement.  We stopped and photographed the snake and I tried to move it off the road lest it be run over by someone who didn’t care about it or didn’t see it.  The snake did not want to move off the road, and, since I was attired in summer shorts and wearing sandals, I respected its wishes and departed.  I hope that he got out of the way before any other vehicles came by.

Other snake snippits:
    
     Our Norwegian relatives are absolutely terrified of rattlesnakes - the Norsk name for them is klapperslanger - too cute!  My father used to torment the cousins unmercifully whenever they visited the 'Hat which was far too few times.  He would drag a rubber snake attached by a string across the yard and relish their squeals of fear as they ran for cover.  Once, when visiting our cousins in Norway, we were sitting in the living room sipping coffee while they watched their favorite TV program "Gunsmoke" which was in English with Norwegian subtitles.  Festus, their favorite character suddenly came face to face with a diamondback rattler.  In total unison, the coffee cups went up in the air, splashing their contents all over the wall behind.  It seemed like the entire event took place in slow motion!

     I have absolutely no fear of rattlers, but I respect them absolutely!