I'll bet you have a fear of snakes — even an irrational one. Most of us do.
I'll bet you love a good snake story. Most of us do.
I enjoy walking through downtown Rockingham in the early mornings. That allows me to avoid daytime temperatures during this time of year; and, I simply like watching the place come to life for another day.
My memories of town stretch back close to seven decades. Somewhere I have a photo of mom, my younger brother and myself, standing alongside the ancient Mr. John Covington Sr., on the steps of Southern National Bank (now PNC) in 1960. A decade later I would be walking a paper route to businesses and several homes in downtown.
I have watched countless parades through our main streets — I even marched in one as an 8th-grade band member. I have visited Santa Claus at a couple of locations here. I have watched impromptu evangelists reaching out to lost souls from our town square. I have noted our late Sheriff Raymond W. Goodman as he offered wisdom to those seeking his counsel in the window of his department store at the corner of Franklin and Lee Streets. I participated in the cornerstone-laying at the new court building.
Nowhere in that bank of memories is there a sight of a snake in our downtown. Maybe I've just missed "Mr. Jake No-Shoulders" when he came a-calling.
Following one of my recent early morning walks, I stopped off to check my box at the local post office. Approaching the building, I spied two ladies in conversation as they headed up the sidewalk. I paid little heed as one of them veered off and entered the building behind me.
It turned out that she performs housekeeping duties there, and she had something to share. The conversation began with her excitedly explaining that she doesn't "do snakes." She did not have to describe the snake that she had just managed to remove from the building's entry area because, in true 21st century fashion, she had the photo on her phone to show me.
I'm no herpetologist, but it appeared benign. Probably a rat snake, or corn snake, stopping off to check for its recent copy of "Slither Monthly" or, like the rest of us lately, just looking for a cool spot.
I understood her concern because I don't "do snakes" myself. As I have explained in this space, I have always assumed that the typical serpent is a deadly viper with a strike range of oh, say, a football field. My wife, Robin, is much more rational about them thanks to her rural childhood south of Hamlet.
Oddly, she is much less rational about spiders. I suppose that lends a nice symbiosis to our marriage as I have little fear of local araneae. Comparisons of childhood memories reveal that while I was allowing daddy long-legged spiders to crawl over my hands, Robin and her dad were walking the woods in search of local, benign, so-called puff adder snakes. We've had fun, over the years, giving each other the shivers.
I should have thanked the postal housekeeping lady for her special service. Had I walked up just 15 minutes earlier, I suspect the friendly creature that I noted on her phone would have suddenly become a deadly mamba!
Award-winning columnist Douglas Smith lives and writes in Rockingham.
