The Kevin Costner ‘Dancing With Wolves’ title sparks memories from my childhood days on our family’s acreage north of Okmulgee. My LIMP memoir* features a tweaked label, ‘Dancing With Snakes’. The pages capture a bladder-triggering moment when an unsuspecting serpent concealed in tall, meadowland grass suddenly spiraled its body straight up my blue-jeaned leg.
Meanwhile, at this Fourth of July season, I call up a different encounter – one mildly competing in terms of drama with that of the pastureland jig.
I was ten, and our family was enjoying an Independence Day outing at a modest cabin on the banks of the Neosho River. . .
“Come here you. Now stay put, little froggy.”
I was fishing with a simple cane pole and line, and had run out of worms when the frog risked hopping into view.
Threading it to my hook, I cast the line and waited for a fish to attack my new bait. I lingered a minute or two. Nothing.
Drawing the pole back, I retrieved the line and lay it and the pole down. The frog continued stirring.
“I’ll be back, frog.”, I called as I moved out of the clearing and headed for a potty break.
On my return I puzzled at the scene before me,
“Where’s the hook, the sinker? Where’s the frog?”
The far end of the fishing line no longer rested above the ground. It had vanished into a hole some feet away.
Raising the cane pole, I felt resistance. Hoisting it higher, I let out a short gasp. From the hole in the ground rose the sinker —and, to my wonderment, a snake – busy swallowing my frog. (a bad day to be a frog, laboring to free itself from both a fish hook and a highly focused snake).
While the hopping amphibian never made it to another sunrise, the snakes’ day likewise failed to end well. Armed with a couple decent-size sticks, my brother and I stepped up to our self-assigned task.
Here’s hoping for you a very special weekend. With gratitude for Liberty. And for you, my reader.
©2024 Jerry Lout *Living With A Limp. Amazon KDP. Jerry Lout