When we were little Dad liked to take Phillip, Keith, Linda and I fishing down at the creek right below the cabin. There was a good fishing hole between two trees at the bend in the stream. They were huge, old sycamores, and the rushing water had hollowed out part of the bank where their roots stuck out into the creek. Dad sat between the trees, holding Linda on his lap, while my brothers and I stood or sat around him, our fishing poles sticking out over the water.
Dad had to help me thread my worm on the hook, I didn't like the way the worm squooshed when it was pierced, but Phillip and Keith didn't mind. Then he dropped the worm into the water and we watched the bobber float on top. Suddenly something orange and black attracted our attention. There, just a few feet away, slithered a big old king snake! Keith and Phillip jumped up, but I sat frozen with fright.
Quickly Dad grabbed a long stick, scooped the snake up, and threw it into the creek. The swiftly flowing water rushed it away, and soon we couldn't even see it, but I couldn't stop shaking. I was glad the snake was gone, and sure glad when Dad told me it couldn't swim so it wasn't going to come back. Just the same, Dad packed us kids up and took us back up to the cabin. I think he was done watching four little kids by himself that day. After all, what if it had been a rattle snake only two feet away?
Years later Keith and Phillip came home from hiking down the creek, all excited about a snake that swam towards them as they were crossing a deep swimming hole. It wasn't until then that I figured out snakes did too know how to swim, and that old king snake probably hadn’t drowned after all. Then I was scared all over again!
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