Snake

Snake

Pretty impressive, right?

You can see the grading. The backhoes and bulldozers came through a few months ago. The County has wanted to pave this seven-mile stretch of fireroad for many years now. It skirts one of the few — heck, maybe the last — of the remaining bays. A bay is a circular depression a couple of miles across in the middle of the swampy countryside. I don't know how many have been drained — dozens? Hundreds? They used to be all over the place, which is why you see the phrase Bays added to a lot of subdivisions. 

The one this dirt road (called International Drive) skirts is named Lewis Bay. It's the only one I know that has a parking area, an official designation for protection, signs on the nearest highway (a two-lane country road in its own right) indicating Wildlife Preserve or something like that. It's all talk for the most part. Once this road is built, the developers will get to work. Lawyers, lobbyists — all of 'em licking their chops, planning their attack. Lots of land back there. Pretty land. Wild land. Land for houses, ugly vinyl houses . . . fake neighborhoods managed by uptight HOAs. The hell with the Venus Flytraps. The hell with the coyotes. The hell with the occasional mountain biker. The utter hell with all of them.

I was exploring International Drive with this foreknowledge of imminent loss. I hadn't been there in many years. No particular reason why. Just hadn't.

The snake and I had a little conversation before I thought to start snapping. I usually don't take my I-Phone with me. This time I did, so I got some good photos of this glorious creature.

Glorious? I hear them snort. The hell with snakes!

There's nothing for the viewer to scale his size by. I'd say he was a good four feet. It was so hot out there. It was so quiet. Saw nothing. Construction in a lull. Something to do with lawsuits brought by local environmentalists. That lawsuit was lost. Construction is underway at the other end.

Look at the thick trees abutting the road. The violence of it all. I know, I know, I'm part of it. I drove to this trailhead, my bike in the back of the small truck. Years ago I'd bike here from my house, but it was always difficult because it involved, and now involves more of, a lot of bushwhacking and trespassing through sketchy areas. Taking that two-lane highway is out of the question. Needless to say, no shoulder, rumblestrip, and cars/trucks going sixty.

DH Lawrence wrote a poem titled "Snake." I haven't read it in decades, but it has stuck with me. He writes the poem to "expiate a pettiness" against the snake. He had thrown a rock at a snake. Then he realized his mistake — the lowliness of the act.

The snake is — to him, to me — a remarkable, wonderful creature. We have no right killing them off. I'm tired of seeing dead snakes on the paved roads. It was a gift seeing a living one on a road that will soon be paved too.

Roadysseus

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