The Den of Copperheads

Sixteen copperheads were killed in our yard that summer. Daddy didn’t know about the snakes when he moved us into the two-story company house by the hill in Lorado. He had left the mine after the slate accident and had become supply clerk at the tiny office across the creek. With that new position came the bigger house. And the copperheads.

One of the first snakes was found early one morning hung over our fence like a prize we’d won. The milkman later told mom he killed it by our back door. The next one blocked the sidewalk where Judy Rae was roller skating. And one of the scariest was a “big fat lizard” five-year old Jayne found sunning on a large rock by the barn. After the first few encounters it was obvious there was a den close by.

Daddy and some other men from the church had a theory that the snakes were traveling from the hill to the creek out front. Our yard just happened to be on their route to water. Besides keeping the grass cut low, Daddy put out cinnamon and vinegar around our fence. These remedies weren’t successful. Thinking the den might be in a small crevice of rocks by the cemetery on the hillside or maybe in a fallen grave, some neighbor men helped Daddy search till it started getting dark.

Copperheads are ornery by nature and full of poison. One had chased Daddy off the hill at Tony Fork when he was younger. He told us how its head was as shiny as a copper penny. Daddy, on the other hand, was a very passive, gentle man and was one of a few men in the holler who didn’t hunt or fish. Usually quick to smile and joke around, the recent mine accident had scared him. He was quieter, more intense. Being so close to death can do that mom told us. This was not an easy time for him, but his love for us was strong and protective. Stronger than his fears.

Lorado was a small town, well kind of like a town. Cuddled between two hills, there was a railroad track, the two lane, a small creek, and two or three rows of houses. We had the company store where you could buy anything you need—food to furniture. It’s where Daddy bought our first television. It’s also where Daddy fell in love with Mom when she worked at the drugstore. By this time, they’d stop requiring coal script as payment. It was the only big store on Buffalo Creek all the way to Man, on the road to Logan. There was the old boarding house, post office, Dr. Scott’s clinic, pool house, Lorado Grade School and a beautiful Methodist Church. Pawpaw and Stella went there. We went up the holler to Lundale Freewill Baptist Church.

Everyone there knew everything about everybody. Word spread quick back in ‘47 that Mom and Daddy had slipped off and eloped to Pikeville, Kentucky when their marriage certificate arrived at the post office. Just seeing the courthouse return address was more news than Doris, the postmaster, could keep to herself. They all knew when Mom lost her first baby. They knew when Daddy borrowed a car so they could take Jayne to the Cleveland Clinic for treatment. They knew when Judy Rae started piano lessons. They knew when I got my white Bible for one year’s perfect attendance in Sunday School. And they knew about our snakes.

Having the reputation of the copperheads that late summer had its benefits. Neighbors couldn’t see us on the front porch or at an all-night-sing at church without sharing their own snake stories. Appalachian folk are the best storytellers and it seemed like snakes was a favorite topic.

“One day I was back on Blair with some friends,” swore Wandell, “and we saw something moving in a rock pile. It was a snake as thick as my thigh! It kept moving in the rocks, but it was so long that we never saw its head or tail.” I shivered at the thought of a monstrous serpent, but I begged for more details.

A woman at church told Mom about a girl named Annie who lives in a den of copperheads and rattlesnakes way up past Pardee. The girl had been bitten so many times she was immune to the venom. “I’ve seen her hanging in the trees with the rattlers,” whispered the woman. “She wears a feed sack and her hair is long and matted.”

Uncle Ernest told about seeing a two headed snake. Gertie said the circus people got permission from her dad to hunt huge snakes on his farm across the river at the Three Mile Curve. Mary and her sister said one night they were walking home from Wednesday night Bible study when they saw shiny moving things all over the road in front of them. It was a copperhead having its live babies on the road. She said they counted over ten in the litter by the moonlight. Her sister added, “I heard if the mother snake thinks her new babies are in danger, she will open her mouth and they’ll crawl back inside her for protection.” I saw Daddy look over at us and nod like he knew what she was talking about.

One afternoon that September Uncle Bobby was walking down the road between our houses and saw a copperhead slide under a board of our old barn behind the house. He came in and told Daddy. Plans were immediately made to tear the building down the next day. If the den was there, they would destroy it. I think Daddy was up all night. His voice was angry. I heard him tell Mom that he should have known it was the barn.

The next morning Mom took me and my sisters to Logan for the day. Mom got her hair washed and cut at the beauty salon. Because we were good, we each got to pick out a toy at the Dime Store, then we went grocery shopping at the Piggly Wiggly. By the time we got back to Lorado, the small old barn was gone. All the wood had been removed, the ground leveled, and even some dirt from the tipple area brought in.

Daddy never wanted to talk about what they found under the wooden floor or how they got rid of the snakes. I’m sure it was scary and dangerous, but he did it for us.