By Ann Dorer
Not long after I decided to tell my grandchildren small stories on purpose, I got fuel for my next tale to tell them. My next-door neighbor Diane and I were taking our morning walk around our lake when suddenly she did a little bunny hop forward. “Oh! I thought I almost stepped on a snake!” she said.
I looked down, and indeed, she had jumped over a snake, a small one stretched out on the road and not moving. It looked like a twig except it had a triangular-shaped head and an orange body. It was a baby copperhead. “We need to kill it,” Diane immediately concluded.
I was in total agreement.
“How?” I asked.
“Get a rock,” Diane suggested.
Where was a rock when you needed one! I finally found one that I could pull up from a nearby landscaped embankment. Then I simply dropped the rock on the snake. But we could see the snake’s tail sticking out from the rock, and that tail was wiggling.
So I stood on top of the rock.
The snake’s tail kept moving.
“Get another rock,” Diane suggested.
I did. From the same landscape. This time, however, the rock was flatter so I could hold it sideways. I used it like a hatchet and chopped the little snake up. A lot.
On our next walk, Diane said, “I told my grandchildren that we killed a snake. They asked me how, and I told them we rocked it to death.”
“I told mine, too,” I said, “But I said that I used a rock and chopped it up like diced onions.”
So here I am, telling you this tale of the tale we told our grandchildren.
And I did it, too, on purpose.
Former editor and consummate Southern lady Ann Dorer shares her reflections on life in our beloved region every few weeks. See her essay on Becoming a Southern Lady for more of her thoughts on the feminine characteristics we love to celebrate.