I was probably about seven years old, holding my mother's hand as we walked down the dirt road a short distance from our house. My father's two sisters were following along behind-all of us barefoot, even my two aunts from the city. The dust on the road was as soft as baby powder and felt so good and warm between my toes.
It was a beautiful late spring day but not much sun could penetrate the overhead cathedral formed by the trees on both sides of the road. Wild flowers edged the trees in a kaleidoscope of color and fragrance. Almost sixty years have flown by and I can close my eyes and still remember the smell and beauty of that day. Sadly not one of us owned a camera to capture nature's artistry at work, we had only our memories to save. Today I wonder if my aunts remember that walk with me. I will have to ask them one day soon.
The road was narrow, but long and straight as far as the eye could see. No vehicles in sight, of course, there weren't that many automobiles around back then-‘scarce as hen's teeth' (an old saying my mother used quite often). But there were many horses. Most of the farmers around traveled by horse and wagon. Once or twice a month they would make a trip to town for supplies that they couldn't raise on the farm. Some of the kids who lived particularly far out would ride a horse to school. This day, however, we met no one on the road-walking or riding-and the peacefulness added to the beauty of the day.
As we continued along, the dust became thinner and the road became covered with pebbles, then larger rocks. Finally we came to a small dip in the road and a low flowing stream of crystal clear water crossed the road and disappeared into the trees. I dropped my mother's hand and ran splashing into the cool water. I had spent most of my life barefoot, so the pebbles and stones were no problem for the roughened bottoms of my small feet. I danced and splashed while my mother scolded me for getting my dress wet. But I could see she was holding back laughter as she herself waded into the sparkling water.
I began to look for tiny muscle shells and found many, filling my pockets with shells of many different shapes, colors, and sizes. My aunts finally caught up with us and waded into the water to cool their feet after leaving the warm dust behind. They had rolled up their slacks to keep the bottoms dry and I thought how funny they both looked because they were ladies of class while my mother and I were country through and through.
They quickly became enthralled with the search for shells and a competition began to find the largest or prettiest or strangest.
Suddenly my Aunt Viola screamed and splashed away back to the dry surface of the road. We all looked toward where she had been standing but could see nothing that should have frightened her so. Curiously I ran to where she had been bending down looking for shells in a small puddle and looked closely into the clear water. Suddenly I could see several long tiny strings writhing around in the water.
"Hey, Mom. Come look at this. What are they?" I looked questioningly to my mother as she moved closer.
"Those are horse-hair snakes." My mother said. "If a horse hair is left in water over-night, it turns into a snake." I looked into her face to see if she was making a joke, but I couldn't tell. She didn't smile or show any sign that she wasn't being serious.
"Ugh!" I turned and ran away out of the water as my mother and Aunt Christine followed.
I-and they, too, probably-had soon forgotten about the horse-hair snakes as we slowly walked back to the house. I was soon engrossed in the warm, powdery dust that was coming up between my toes again and a warm happiness at just being alive on this day flowed up from my feet and throughout my whole body.
I am now sixty-two years old and I have never found out if there is such a thing as ‘Horse-hair Snakes'; and the memories of that beautiful spring day stored themselves away in the banks of a time long gone.
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Sandra E. Graham, author, AMOS JAKEY and NICOLINA, published by American Book Publishing. Visit my website for more info of my books and articles.
http://www.sandragraham-articles-books.com
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