Snakes in the Hay

The barbershop was across and just down the street from the Weagers (sp?) from church. Mr. and Mrs. Weager were an older retired couple that a number of the younger couples befriended. I don’t recall her first name, but Mr. Weager went by Wally which could have been short for Walter or Wallace.

I liked going over there because they had acreage. There are several stories I can relate about their small farm so watch this blog for more on the Weagers.

My father always told great stories. When we were camping, there were lots of stories. We would be bundled into sleepwear in our sleeping bags when dad would begin. He had many and today’s memory combines the Weager farm and one of dad’s stories.

The Weager farm might have been ten acres. Part of it was wooded, but the “front yard” was a large pasture of about 3 acres. From the highway you could see the small white house at the end of a long single lane dirt driveway. The house sat on the upper slope, with the wooded acres behind.

Mr. Weager had mowed – or maybe had some one mow – the front pasture for hay. Wally needed the hay picked up. I can’t remember everyone that was there, but it seemed our neighbor Chuck from SeaTac was there. He knew Wally from church too.

Greg and I were too small to throw the hay into the “hay wagon” but we could certainly help. We rode in the wagon towed behind a small tractor and stomped down the hay. The men used pitchforks to throw the hay over the sides of the trailer as it moved slowly along the dried rows.

Occasionally a pitchfork of hay contained a snake. Several snakes got pitched into the wagon that day and you could see them crawling around as we stomped. I don’t like snakes, although at that age, I was a “handler.” My brother and the neighbor boys would go snake hunting in our backyard as it backed up to an undeveloped area. Handling snakes was not much of a problem when I was younger – I understood one thing. These were Gartner snakes – the black harmless ones with yellow stripes. Some times we found ones with red stripes, and some with blue. We called those “blue racers.”

Some of the snakes we found were small and some were larger. One of the biggest ones I ever saw was pitched into that wagon, that day. The snake didn’t bother me – in fact I rather enjoyed watching it wrap around my brother’s leg. When a snake begins to climb your leg, you scream! My brother was no different. I think all the men were laughing and I know they did it on purpose. Torturing, and teasing little kids - what fun!

Dad said something to the effect “when I was little the men always threw snakes into the hay wagon too… only they were rattlesnakes.” “Stop your whining…”

(I might have made that part up for my brother).

-Craig