While moving the remaining items of my house in Northwest Arkansas over the weekend into storage, it hit me, as it has many times before, of what a pack rat I have become.
The only thing more cluttered than the bedroom-turned-storage room is my small shed I had built years ago from spare barn parts. I didn’t have a floor installed. Bad mistake. I fear snakes as much as nuclear warfare.
The day I opened the shed to get my lawnmower and a very lengthy snake skin was right beside the back tires, I immediately implemented a series of snake check points before hopping on. I’d lift the seat, lift the hood, check down beside the battery and any other nook and cranny I thought a snake might squeeze into, only to come crawling across my lap as I began mowing, this sending me into a 4-mile-per-hour head-on collision as I hysterically screamed, alerting neighbors over the hill to Armageddon taking place at the Mooty residence.
I know this because of the time I was going through the checklist, peering into every corner of the shed in case a python was ready to pounce, when something caught my eye by my feet. I realized I was standing on about an 8-inch long snake that was flopping back and forth in the leaves. My scream sent birds flying out of their trees all the way to the Oklahoma line.
That was the day the lawnmower was permanently removed from the shed and placed under the carport, although the checklist was still rigorously followed.
Living in the rural Ozarks, I was surround by hundreds of acres of trees and pastures, and a structure such as a shed with a bottomless floor was a haven for various rodents. So, guess what often ventured into the shed for lunch? Yeah, well, I didn’t guess that when I had it built.
So, last weekend as I was emptying items from the shed, I was as cautious of anything that appeared out of place. After lifting a box of something else I didn’t need but had felt the need to save, I saw with sweat-filled eyes something that appeared to be either a very long worm, a very long centipede, or most likely and the worst case scenario, a small snake. It looked expired, so I figured the weight of the container had crushed whatever it was. I decided to go place the box in the bed of my truck and return with a rake to remove whatever it was without actually having to touch it.
I was gone maybe 15 seconds, and when I returned, the critter had left the scene. The only thing worse than seeing a snake is to lose eye contact with one you know is nearby – and I had more boxes to lift.
My niece wrote a column once about “feweristics,” and how we appreciate things more when there are not as many options in various aspects of life. I also read something about becoming a minimalist. At first, I thought it was another party trying to get their candidate on the November ballot, but upon further reading, I realized that a minimalist does away with clutter in one’s life, particularly in one’s home. I am not “one.” However, I got rid of about eight large trash bags of clutter on my latest trip and plan on many more on my next and final trip before the home sale closes.
Snakes, I have found, are not minimalists and prefer as much clutter as possible, perhaps because rodents do, too. I have changed out what items I have saved and re-boxed them, just in case one such as the latest critter made a particular box of clutter his or her – does it really matter – home.
You’ll know if I missed one. It’ll sound like Armageddon coming from my direction.