Nature is Full of Surprises by Sarah Raplee McDermed

One of the coolest things about the natural world is that it's full of surprises. 

Some are very positive.

Like when an opossum builds a nest in your bushes and you worry about your pets' safety. So you Google "opossums" and learn they eat all kinds of pests, are resistant to rabies and have a live-and-let-live agreement with cats. They are terrified of dogs and will avoid them at all costs. Who knew?

Opossum 
Unsplash

Or when a chipmunk moves into an ornamental birdhouse on your deck railing and cleans up the mess under the birdfeeder for you. 

Or when you gaze out your window on a rainy day and spot a beautiful rainbow.

Some are hilarious.

Like when your family is at a county park playing Frisbee golf and a wild turkey answers with a long gobble every time your thirteen-year-old son hollers. "Dad!"

Or when you and your husband are doing yard work with the garage door open, and you go into said garage to find your old, already-grass-stained sneakers. You spot them in the shadows by the wall just inside the door and reach for them. A slight movement inside one of them makes you hesitate. You peer into the shadow and spot a small reptilian head with two beady little eyes staring at you from inside the heel of your shoe! A baby garter snake no bigger than a pencil has taken shelter there. You call our husband over to see and you both have a good laugh. Then, still smiling, you release the little black reptile with yellow stripes down its sides into the woods at the edge of your yard.

Some are so dangerous they become family lore, cautionary tales told and retold to each new generation.

Like the time you and your brother, Jack, were California preteen city slickers spending the summer on your grandparents' Pennsylvania farm. One day the two of you walked down to the lake to look for frogs. Your grandpa's beagle, Buster, followed you. 

When  you discovered there were no frogs to be found in the heat of the day, the three of you headed back up the path through the reeds. Next thing you knew your brother stopped in front of you and whispered, "Snake. Big snake."

You peered around him at the biggest snake you'd ever seen. The long black creature was crossing the path a few feet in front of you. It looked like the snake that lived in Grandma's compost pile. Harmless.

Buster snarled behind you and barrelled through the reeds toward the snake. Buster hated snakes and would kill them given half a chance. You tried to protect the poor snake by calling him off, but Buster ignored you. He grabbed the snake in the middle, gave it a hard shake and then let go, dancing back out of reach. Jack managed to grab Buster's collar and hold him back when he tried to lunge again. The unfortunate snake coiled and raised its head. You could see some of its guts hanging out of the bite wound. When it opened it's mouth, you saw it's fangs fold down and heard it hiss.

The two of you managed to drag Buster back to Grandma's house, giving the wounded snake a wide birth. You both felt sorry for the poor thing. When you got home and told Grandma about what happened, you mentioned you'd never seen a snake's fangs unfold before.

Grandma frowned. "Are you sure that's what you saw?" 

You both nodded. "It's mouth was white inside," Jack added. "Weird!"

Water Moccasin

"You were very lucky Buster was with you," Grandma said. "That wasn't a milk snake. It was a cottonmouth, a water moccasin. Very mean and very poisonous. Buster saved your lives."

Like I said, the natural world is full of surprises: amazing, beautiful, funny, scary, weird and wonderful (and always interesting.) 

What's the biggest surprise nature has sprung on you?

 

Train of Thought—Unintended Consequences

This month’s blog theme—Trains, Planes & Automobiles—provides me an opportunity to share a fond childhood memory.

I grew up in Keokuk, in the southeast corner of Iowa. My aunt & uncle lived 400 miles away in Spirit Lake in Iowa’s northwest corner. Given that Iowa had no diagonal roads in the late 1950s—it still has dang few—it took a LONG time to tack across Iowa by car. With Mom at the wheel, it took even longer, since we drove at posted back road speeds, stopped to visit sites like the Little Brown Church in the Vale, paused to chow down on meatloaf sandwiches, and visited, oh, a dozen filling station restrooms since Mom, my sister and I seemed to keep different bathroom schedule.

All of this is to explain why Mom decided to put her ten-year-old daughter (me) on a train to Spirit Lake when I begged to travel a week ahead of the rest of the family so I could attend Camp Foster, a really cool YMCA camp with canoeing, archery, and all kinds of fun stuff.

The travel plan sounded straight forward. Mom would drive me the first 100 miles to put me aboard a passenger train for the remaining 300 miles. Then my aunt and uncle would collect me. I didn’t have to change trains, and the trip was slated to take maybe six hours. The conductor assured Mom he’d take care of me.

Turns out I was the sole passenger in the only passenger car. All other cars were filled with passengers who mooed. So the passenger car got bumped at our first stop, and I got to ride in the caboose. Fortunately, I knew how to play poker, the conductor’s game of choice.

About three hours in as we approached the engineer’s home town, we encountered some sort of mechanical problem. The engineer took me to his home, where I played with his red-haired daughter Zelda—I can still picture her. The engineer collected me hours later when whatever problem existed was fixed. And I went back to playing poker in the caboose.

Of course, I was oblivious to the fact that my mom, aunt and uncle were frantic that I was hours late. My aunt finally reached someone who told her that one little girl and several hundred head of cattle were headed her way—just a little late. I had a blast. The trip was almost as much fun as Camp Foster.

Maybe these kinds of experiences are why I remain a “seat of the pants” author, who never outlines a novel before she starts writing. I like the freedom to veer off in different directions as new plot opportunities arise. It keeps the writing fun.

So do you go with the flow when the unexpected happens? Does your willingness to improvise/adjust have an impact on how you write?