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Deja Vu

By Mary Jane Holt
Contributing Writer

I had a nice visit with Jimmy Worley this week. Made my day. He's the kind of guy for whom and to whom a handshake still means something. A man of his word and you can take that word to the bank.

And that is exactly what we did back in 1997 when Jimmy and his brother Allen built our home. Their dad is the county coroner, Johnny Worley. Johnny and both sons live within a strong and long kick of a football from one another.

Wonderful sense of family. Good values. Honesty. Integrity. They still grow that kind of stuff in Alvaton, Georgia.

Jimmy came by today, nearly eight years after building our home, just to check on things. To follow up. Not only did I tremendously enjoy the building experience, but Jimmy is a good follow-upper (a rarity among builders, I am told). He went into the crawl space under the house - while he was here to check on some specifics for me.

I knew he was coming by. I had a pitcher of sweet tea waiting. I gotta love a guy who, when he can't sleep at night, gets up and goes and pours himself a tall glass of sweet iced tea at three in the morning. Oh, yeah, my kind of insomniac!

So… Jimmy's here visiting and he goes under the house to check on something for me and he doesn't come out and he doesn't and he doesn't. Finally, I go out to check on him. I see that the door that opens to the crawl space has been closed and locked.

I call out. He answers. I walk in the direction of this voice. I round the corner and there he stands with Daniel's seven foot cedar pole that he carries sometimes when we go walking. With it Jimmy is poking into the bushes.

Dejavu! Full force! I know he is about to tell me he saw a snake under my house. I just know it!

I was wrong. He only saw a looong snake skin under these floors I walk on every day. Then, when he had come out from under the house he had seen a black snake in the bushes next to the house. A very much alive black snake.

It did my heart good to see such a strong, muscular-- I mean really strapping gent with “that” look on his face. My look. The look I get when I think that snakes, rats, roaches and the like are anywhere near my home.

Turns out Jimmy does not like snakes in, under, or near his house either. Yep, I knew I liked this guy!

I try, folks. I really do. But snakes, well, snakes are never going to endear themselves to me. I have friends who like them. My sons like them. Can’t figure that one. They defend them. “They have such an important place in the eco system.” Yeah… I'm not arguing that. It's just that their place is NOT in my place.

And I'm not the only soul around that feels that way. I got to talking to a stranger at the movies the other night. He, and I, and another lady were the only folks in the theater at the time. We were waiting for the Bourne Supremacy to begin. And, of course, I struck up a conversation. I love strangers!

Trouble is, I'm not always a stranger anymore. Turns out this fellow, (a regional manager, I believe he said with PlyMart) knew my column. Remembered the one about the snakes under my house a few years back and how my hubby was my hero. But we are not going there again. Not today. Not in light of the “hate” mail I received after I had demanded the demise of the slithering invader featured in that column of yesteryear.

I now know it is illegal to kill them. So please know that Jimmy Worley did no harm to the visiting blackie today. That's right. The snake got away.

Did he head for the woods? Did he go back up under the house? Is he safely tucked away under the front porch?

Don't know. But I just made a fresh gallon of sweet tea ‘cause it's gonna be a long night in Georgia. All those little creaks and soft rumbles that are part and parcel of a peaceful country night - rural sounds that I have learned to enjoy tremendously or skillfully ignore since “returning to the land” -- well, the learning starts allllll over again tonight.

Write to, or visit with, Mary Jane at: www.maryjaneholt.com.