When I stop by Lenora’s house she offers some exquisite pastry she or daughter Emma just made, served with a cup of tea steeped in silken bags. When she comes to my house, it’s a cup of Folgers decaf and a granola bar.
It was a warm afternoon, and Lenora politely settled for ice water. Then, as good fortune would have it, Adrine Younger called and said she left a pound cake in the pickup. It was a gift for Sam, and it was wrapped and ribboned beautifully — but surely Sam would not notice two missing slices; so Lenora and I indulged.
We retired to the porch and had hardly gotten started talking about her online studies, the impending marriage of her son, the launching of her graduate daughter and the rapidly maturing of her youngest, when Lenora leaned forward and with eyes narrowed announced, “There’s a snake!”
Looking toward the pond where she pointed like a bird dog, I thought it might be a muskrat, but no, there it went on top of the water in a serpentine slither. It was a big one.
Running to the washing machine, I grabbed the gun. Out on the porch with the gun barrel propped on the railing, I popped the safety and spotted the serpent in the scope. Lenora whispered, “Is this going to be loud?”
“No, it’s a .22.” Then I pulled the trigger and watched the snake flip and thrash at the surface of the water. I shot again and Lenora took off for the dock. “I think you got him” trailed behind her.
“Stand still.” I shot again for good measure.
“I didn’t know you were going to shoot with me right there,” she hollered.
I reminded her I had told her to stand still, and anyway I wasn’t shooting toward her. I was proud to have that new .22, after Sam got tired of the old one that only shot one bullet and jammed. That snake was a goner.
Lenora returned to her ice water. I put the gun back by the washing machine, refilled my coffee cup and offered her another slice of Adrine’s pound cake.
By the time we finished our visit darkness had settled over the Prairie and we had not even touched many of the subjects that we had intended. Her family would be waiting for supper, and just about the hour she was leaving Sam called to say he was coming home from his fishing trip. He reported keeping 24 good ones; a couple were “roosters.”
“Adrine Younger brought you a pound cake,” I said, then confessed, “Lenora and I ate one end. Oh yeah, and I shot a snake off the back porch.”
“Well, yes, I got him.”
Later, upon hearing the whole story, Sam gently warned, “Don’t ever shoot with Lenora anywhere in front of you. That’s lesson number two.”
Shannon Rule Bardwell is a Southern writer living quietly in the Prairie. Her email is [email protected].
The Dispatch Editorial Board is made up of publisher Peter Imes, columnist Slim Smith, managing editor Zack Plair and senior newsroom staff.
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