copperhead's response
message of responding vs. reacting
Today’s copperhead story1 is set in Spring of 2024. My enthusiasm for spending warm days in the garden was heightened by planting tomato seedlings that I had grown from tiny bitty seeds. The soil in the raised bed on the left had been prepared earlier in the day, as evidenced by the gorgeous, weed-free earth. The proud tomato transplants at the top end of the bed are surrounded by a circle of soil to hold the water from my watering can.
Likewise, the raised bed on the right is similar in size and also crafted from fallen trees supplemented by a trellis made from goat fencing so the indeterminate plants could grow freely and easily be supported. The picture shows the untended soil in the bed on the right, complete with happy weeds.
After wrapping up work on the left bed, I felt spontaneous and turned to the bed across the aisle of wood chips, stooped to reach into the bed, and grabbed a few weeds with my ungloved hands.
Step back.
I sensed these words clearly in my mind and I immediately stood upright and took a step back. I looked around at standing eye level and didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.
Trusting the message, I walked around the right-side bed so that I could see where I had been weeding from a new vantage point. That’s when I saw her resting in the soil beneath the cross-bar log — inches from where I had impulsively pulled weeds without first scoping out the area.
I breathed a sigh of relief and expressed gratitude to Copperhead.
Thank you for letting me know that I was in your personal space. I don’t mean you any harm, and I’m grateful that you gave me the opportunity to step back. Truly.
We try to live in harmony here in this garden. THANK YOU so much for giving me grace. I will stay out of this bed for now and finish watering and working elsewhere. Enjoy your rest.
The work to finish the other bed took about 30 minutes and, before I cleaned up to leave, I walked back to the far side to talk with Copperhead. I repeated pretty much what I had said before, only now with less of a freaked out voice. I asked her to tell the other venomous snakes in the area that we share the space and will not harm them. They have nothing to fear from us.
Thank you for reaching out to me with a warning rather than reacting with an attack. Your beautiful snake message resonates. I have been working on being calm, listening to understand, and responding with kindness vs. reacting or attacking.
Copperhead was silent.
Can you still hear me.
Yes.
Can you see me? I recalled that her head was not shown in the photos I had taken earlier.
Duh, yes.
Of course our copperhead had attitude. I took another picture with my phone and zoomed in. There she was - her eye and characteristically scalloped lips.
I said goodbye, thanked her once more, and suggested that she relocate because I needed to work in that bed next time. I felt a nod of acceptance.
Thank you for the chat, Copperhead. And for not biting me when I was reckless. I am grateful.
Copperheads are native to our area and it’s common to encounter them. Below are links to other copperhead stories:
Wow, very cool story, Lori. When I "think" of it, I try to communicate with other animals. I love your example here. I hope it's left a strong enough impression on me to be more mindful of talking with more animals. I really want to connect more with them!
What a beauty she is. Thanks for the snake message Copperhead!