Almost stepping on a snake is way better than the rest of my week has been.

So I’m not gardening in the front today, but partying, of sorts, way in the back of Western Pennsylvania. It’s been an incredibly tough week because teenage daughter, so I packed a pair of flip flops and some dirty t-shirts and drove up I-77 to my in-laws’ place by the side of the Allegheny River.

Heaven. At least for today.

Heaven. At least for today.

Even though Paris Hilton is probably desecrating my garden boxes as I type, my day here has gone pretty nicely so far. My seven-year-old daughter, who is not yet old enough to realize how much she has always hated me, brought me breakfast, water, coffee, cherries in a bowl, and an adorable new puppy named Forrest Gump to play with (he’s half Boxer and half Chocolate Lab. Get it?). Then she massaged my neck with her sweet little hands and took me down the bike trail to see the grassy bank where the leatherback turtles lay their eggs. Sadly, the raccoons know about the grassy bank where the leatherbags (that’s a Freudian slip, but I’m leaving it) lay their eggs, too, so there are broken egg-shells in piles here and there.

porcupine

This is after showing me its prickly behind. BTW, is it true or urban legend that porcupines can shoot quills?

Then I went on a walk.

And I saw this porcupine:

 

 

 

 

 

And I saw this useless sign:

No Parking on the ancient oil tank.

No Parking on the ancient oil tank.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And I saw this t-shirt just chillin’ on a bench:

Or maybe it was the rapture and I missed it.

Or maybe it was the rapture. And I missed it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And, messing with my Pandora music feed, I almost stepped on this:

I screamed. I won't lie.

I screamed. I won’t lie.

Dramatic Re-enactment of me almost stepping on the snake.

Dramatic re-enactment of me almost stepping on the snake.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Which, all in all, wasn’t nearly as bad as changing a wiper blade, in the rain, by the side of Interstate 77. Or teenagers.

 

 

 

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6 thoughts on “Almost stepping on a snake is way better than the rest of my week has been.

  1. That reenactment really fooled me! Drive back through Olney Maryland. I’d love to have you stay. We could see DC sights together and it would make a nice blog post. Plus I know about teenagers.

  2. Dear traci,
    Is there a gardening technique to ensure my daughter does not become a teenager? I bit of old Farmer’s knowledge that makes her stay 8? Or, if she must get older, be 8 and then jump to the grateful age of 22?

  3. To say the reenactment was “dramatic” is, perhaps, a bit of an overstatement. The snake just rolled its eyes, gave me a look like “OMG, you’re so stupid.” then slunk away. Wait. No. I’m getting confused. That was my teenage daughter.

  4. Dear Nik,
    She’ll come at you like a tornado. No warning. Tomato plants mashed to pulp. Cucumbers in pieces. May God have mercy on your soul.

    Also. The idea of a “grateful 22” gives me hope.

  5. Then again, all y’all are better parents than I am. So, probably, your teenagers will compliment you on your new haircuts, do the dishes without asking, and get to bed early, even on Friday night, just because they want to get up early and mow the lawn.

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