You can learn a lot about life from a Copperhead Snake. Fear. Excitement. Wonder. Mystery. Something about the beauty of Nature. Jaybird felt curiosity more than anything else, as he watched this particular Copperhead Snake sunning itself on a flat rock. Jaybird squatted on his haunches, a respectable distance from that snake, chewing on a stalk of sawgrass, and wondering what it would feel like to touch that snake. Jaybird's dog Rin, a big handsome German Shepherd, was also watching that snake. Rin was flattened out next to Jaybird with his nose on his paws stretched out before him, his tail swishing slowly back and forth. Jaybird stroked the dog's head. "Easy Rin," he said softly, "it's a Copperhead." Jaybird never failed to keep Rin fully informed.
Jaybird had been halfway down a tree covered steep rocky slope that dropped half a mile into the Big River on the way to his secret hideout when he spotted that snake facing uphill lying on that rock. Jaybird wasn't afraid of that snake even though his Uncle George, who knew about these things, had warned him that Copperheads were poisonous. It was the first Copperhead Jaybird had ever seen although he had spotted Cotton-Mouthed Water Moccasins bobbing along in the river a few times. Uncle George had told him that the Cotton-Mouth was a cousin to the Copperhead, and maybe even more dangerous. Jaybird was ten and a half years old, and although he did not routinely seek out danger, neither did he consciously avoid it. He could think of a whole wagon-load of things he was more afraid of than a snake. The worst thing that could happen if a snake bit you was that you might die, and from what Jaybird had been hearing from his Mom who made him say his prayers every night, and from some kids he knew who went to the Catholic Church on Sundays, if you died you would go to Heaven; so dying couldn't be all that bad. Of course you might go to Hell, and Jaybird thought the way things were going lately there was a pretty good chance that's where he was headed. He reached into the back pocket of his shorts and fingered the pack of Philip Morris cigarettes he had stolen from Grampa Giessow's store. In the other back pocket were two candy bars he had also filched, a Snickers and a Baby Ruth. Among a series of unresolved dilemmas in Jaybird's young life was trying to decide which he liked better, Snickers or Baby Ruth.
Jaybird heard the sound of some loose rocks tumbling down the slope. He looked around to be sure no one was following him. Rin emitted a low growl. Jaybird took off his glasses and removed an oily smudge with a soiled handkerchief he had stuffed in his side pocket, the same pocket that held the pocketknife his dad had given him for his birthday. Without his glasses that snake, maybe 10 feet away, looked like a blurry piece of wood to Jaybird.
At the top of the bluff, spread out over more than 100 acres commanding a surpassing view of the wide river valley below was a series of 50 or 60 rough-hewn creosote covered summer cottages put together with grim determination, and inexhaustible cheerfulness over the last 10 years by a pint-sized, bald-headed man with muscles like steel cables who sounded a lot like Jimmy Durante. The man was Jaybird's grandfather, Otto Giessow, and he called his summer resort Giessow's Cottage Farm. The Farm was located in the foothills of the Ozark Mountains, 40 miles Southwest of St. Louis, and came into existence in the middle of the roaring twenties not long after Otto Giessow discovered that it was possible to drive a Model T Ford from his Auto Mechanic's Garage on north Locust Street in St.Louis down into those Ozark Mountains. Jaybird had been coming here with his mom and dad every summer since he was five years old, and there wasn't much about the Farm that Jaybird didn't know. He knew where the mulberry trees were, he knew the quickest way to get down to the river, he knew where the Sycamore trees grew out over the river so you could rig up a rope to swing out, and he knew where all the limestone caves were. He was learning where you could expect to find Copperhead snakes.
The Copperhead blinked. So did Jaybird. Rin lifted an ear. Jaybird's mind wasn't entirely on that snake; he was wrestling with some of the problems of being 10 and a half years old. Why did life have to be so complicated? All these rules. Don't do this. Don't do that. Don't even talk ... children should be seen and not heard. That Copperhead wouldn't care if he talked. "Hey snake!" Jaybird shouted. Rin looked up at him. The snake did not stir. Jaybird smiled. Snakes should be seen and not heard.
A Redheaded Woodpecker began a rat-a-tat-tat on a nearby cedar tree; Jaybird did not look up. He noticed a long row of red ants parading across the ground in front of him. A yellow butterfly was visiting a small daisy growing out of the rocky hillside. A warm humid breeze flowed from behind over Jaybird's ears. In spite of his problems with the grown-up world Jaybird felt good, at least as good as you could feel with a sore big toe. He had stubbed the toe on a rock coming down the hill, and it was bleeding slightly; Jaybird planned to clean it in the cool mountain stream flowing down over his hideout. The hideout was a shallow cave tucked behind a small waterfall not too far away from where he was squatting. The sun's rays filtering through the tall cedars warmed his bare back, already deep brown with his summer tan. The soles of his bare feet were thickly callused with his summer "shoes". His otherwise curly brown hair was clipped close to the scalp in his summer haircut. Jaybird thought about the 4th of July celebration coming up next week. He hoped his dad would buy him some cherry bombs or at least a few packages of firecrackers. When you get to be 10 years old you should expect more than sparklers and a few Roman candles for the 4th of July.
Jaybird stood up and stretched his legs. He was determined to touch that Copperhead; he wanted to know what it felt like. He watched the snake carefully as he circled behind, giving it a wide berth. Rin followed. The snake was motionless, but Jaybird did not think it was asleep; he had the feeling the snake was following him with its slitted eyes. It was not coiled, but extended to full length, about three feet long Jaybird estimated. Jaybird approached from behind to the point where he could almost reach out and touch it. He was now close enough where he could see all the details of the snakes' scaly hide. He saw a pattern of dark skin artistically laced over a background of light greenish gray, and the brownish colored head he supposed you could call copper colored. He wondered what would happen if he grabbed that snake behind its head and just picked it up. The sun went behind a cloud as he stood there thinking about what he wanted to do. Suddenly the air became very still. He felt a slight shiver go down his back. He heard a Mourning Dove coo against the silence of the tree-covered hillside. The snake moved, a small slithering motion. Jaybird reached out.
"I wouldn't do that if I was you, kid," a hoarse, raspy voice called out.
Jaybird pulled his arm back and looked around in frightened alarm. There was no one in sight. He looked back at the snake. Did that voice come from the snake? He looked at Rin, the dog returned the gaze with his intelligent big round luminous eyes. He looked around again... nothing but rocks, trees, and a few low bushes. Something moved a short way up the slope. Rin barked and took off with a mad rush after a rabbit. Jaybird turned back to the Copperhead. It was gone.
Jaybird called fruitlessly after Rin disappearing up the slope. The sun moved from behind the cloud, but not for long. Jaybird looked up at the sky and saw dark clouds moving in fast from over the top of the hill. He took off at a quick trot heading for his hideout, still wondering where that voice came from. He had not gone 10 steps when a flash of jagged lightning smashed into a nearby cedar tree followed almost instantaneously by a crash of loud thunder. The rain began with large ploppy drops and quickly developed into a withering downpour. Jaybird ducked behind the waterfall into the cool dry shelter of his cave just as the first hailstones began to fall.