A Snake in the Grass

     I was walking in one of my favorite nature preserves a few days ago enjoying the late autumn view of oak trees turned a ruddy red and tall, green Norway pines that rose above a steep ravine of tall-grass prairie. Because of the incline, I looked down as I climbed and saw a funny, dark brown stick lying completely straight in the tangle of dead grasses. Its color was different from anything close by. It was very thin -- thinner than a pencil -- and about that long. Instinctively, I stepped over it, then turned back to see if it was a snake or in fact just a stick. I don't like snakes, creepy silent things, but it was so small and lay so still I couldn't resist investigating. What I took to be the front tip was rounded and slightly bigger, as a head would be, and the back end narrowed to a point. But it wasn't a baby garter snake -- weren't they green?

     'Nudge it; make sure,' I said to myself. 'Oh no,' I thought, 'I am being as brave as I can be right now. No sense in overdoing it.' But why was it so motionless? Was something so tiny capable of enough instinct to even sense my presence? It was probably a baby -- a day, or hour or two old. 'Maybe,' I thought, 'it is just a stick after all.'
I stepped back a pace and in turn stayed perfectly still. The sun shone on the little object. I waited. And waited. It moved; it was alive. I stepped forward and it froze, a slight curl now in its slender body. I froze. And waited. It raised its head eyeing the tall grass on the opposite side of the path to which it had now come, then slithered into it. Noiselessly. A little proud of my naturalist's instincts and very proud of my courage against such scary creature I turned to continue my trek up the hill and jumped involuntarily at the sight of a thick black form in the grass.

     Oh my, it was a branch in the path, nothing like a snake. But so much for bravery; I had snakes on my mind and my instincts, like the little brown slider's, were in perfectly good condition.

Lunch With Kids

    When I worked at Carlson Companies, I spent eight hours a day in a tiny cubicle. I used the lunch hour as a chance to get outside. On most days, I would eat lunch in my car in a shaded part of the parking lot while doing the crossword puzzle from the Star Tribune newspaper.

    On this particular day, the parking lot was being resurfaced. My shaded area was closed off to me. I drove around the nearby streets to find another spot. About three blocks away, I found the empty parking lot of St. Stephen’s Lutheran Church. A tall oak shaded the far corner. It seemed a perfect spot to enjoy my lunch.

    About half way through my crossword puzzle, as I was penciling E-S-A-U into 23 down, two Plymouth Police squad cars screeched to a halt, red lights flashing, in front of my car. Four officers emerged with their hands resting on their guns. One approached the window on the drivers’ side. I rolled down the window.

    “Let me see some ID,” he commanded.

    I put down my sandwich and crossword puzzle, dug out my wallet, fished out my driver’s license and handed it to him. He handed it to another officer who took it to one of the squad cars.

     “What’s going on?,” I asked.

     “I’ll ask the questions. What are you doing here?”

     “Eating a sandwich and doing the crossword puzzle.”

     “Don’t get smart with me, young man.”

     This coming from a man who looked at least five years younger than me.

     “'Why are you in this parking lot?' was the question I asked.”

     That wasn’t the question I had heard.

     “They’re resurfacing the parking at Carlson Companies, where I work. So I parked here today. Here’s my Carlson ID.”

     “We got a call about a suspicious character lurking around the Day Care Center.”

     Lurking?

     “What day cay center?”

     He pointed toward the rear of the car. I turned and looked. I saw a row of pines, behind that a barely visible eight foot high chain link fence. Beyond that, I saw what could have been the top of roof of a building.

     “What day care center?” I asked.

     “Don’t get smart with me, young man.”

     He put his hand on his gun, turned on his heels and walked to one of the two squad cars. About ten minutes later he appeared at my window. I put down my sandwich and crossword puzzle and looked up at him.

     “It appears everything checks out. But we are making a report of this and keeping it on file.”

     I sincerely hoped no children in the seven county area would be abducted in the next year or so. I was sure my name would appear first on the list of likely suspects.

      “From now on I would suggest you eat lunch in the park," he said as he looked down his nose at me.

      “But there are more kids there, than here!” I answered.

      “Don’t get smart with me young man!”