FLASHBACK - (Sept 2013) The Storyteller

All God’s Creatures

by Janie P. Taylor with Dawne W. Bryan

Iwas “green” before being green was in vogue. Perhaps it was due to my training as a science teacher, or perhaps it was by virtue of being a granddaughter of John V. Arrendale, Rabun County’s first county agent, who dedicated his life to the ecology and preservation of his beloved mountains. Like Granddaddy Arrendale, I conserved water and soil and believed in recycling and living as one with nature.

As such, I respect all of God’s creatures – some, we shall see, more than others. When my children were growing up at the foot of Tiger Mountain, the mere sight of a Daddy Long Legs would give them pause. I, however, was not alarmed in the least, stating emphatically, “Why, that’s just Hortense the spider. He’s not hurting a soul!” Or, if ants were parading over the counter in search of a sugar morsel, I took that as perfectly normal, spraying them with a little bleach to deter them momentarily. When the young uns squealed at the sight of a lizard scurrying across the porch, I’d assure them by saying, “Don’t worry, it’s only Lucinda. She keeps snakes and other creepy crawlies away from view.”

Speaking of snakes, most farm families kept a non-poisonous snake in the corn crib and barn. Ours was called Henrietta, the pet black snake that we tolerated for generations (There was a Henrietta, Jr., Henrietta, III...) Henrietta and her kin controlled the rat and mice population. Sightings were rare, but there was the time Melvin found a relative of Henrietta’s in the barn hay loft. Folks swear that snake, when coiled, could fill up a tin wash tub.

I generally took the occasional snake appearance in stride until the day a cousin of Henrietta’s fell on my head. The washer and dryer were located in the basement, requiring walking down a set of outside steps. On laundry day, I opened the basement door, apparently disturbing the snake which was resting on the transom above. It plummeted onto my head and slithered to the floor. Screaming and stomping at the snake, I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

At first I vowed never again to darken the basement door. But as the dirty clothes piled up, I dared to venture into the inner sanctum garbed in a football helmet, a yellow rain slicker and boots for protection.

My industrious son Wesley decided it was time for a home improvement project. The original tiny bathroom was converted into a modern up-to-date laundry room and a spare bedroom became a fancy new bathroom. (My daughter Becky, amazed at the transformation, quipped that the whole renovation was “like building the Taj Mahal in the ruins of Greece”!). The basement became the place to which Melvin’s beanfield fertilizer and pesticides were

Another run-in with a snake happened on my front porch. One summer day a neighbor stopped by to pick up a mess of beans and stayed for a spell to pass the time. She sat in the swing, swaying in perfect time with the motion of my rocking chair.

After the visitor left, and with the swing still a-swinging, I vow and declare (though there are no witnesses) there was a snake — a spreading adder – by the porch post, apparently hypnotized by the back and forth motion of the porch swing and rocker. (A spreading adder is a non-poisonous cobra-like snake, native to this area, also known as a puff adder or hog-nosed snake.) As if mesmerized by a snake charmer, the snake spread its neck, moving side to side, swaying to the rhythm. Let’s just say my love of creatures had reached its limit. I grabbed a hoe and spread that spreading adder all over the porch!

This past fall, field mice found their way into my house. As is my way, I referred to them as “Mickey and crew”, but Wesley was once again called into service. We dubbed him the “Pied Piper of Tiger” for his part in thankfully trapping the unwanted guests. I can take being “green” only so far.

Publisher’s Note: We miss Janie P. Taylor.