Arriving in West
Virginia, from California, we
stayed with my dad's brother and his family before going to our final destination,
Washington D.C. This
snapshot is a steeply sloping hillside spilling out of the tree covered side of
a nearly vertical West Virginia
mountain. The group of children are
running headlong down the slope, screaming wildly and racing haphazardly
towards the unpainted wooden house sitting cantilevered below the
mountain. That's me in the group, the last to reach the house. We raced up the wide board steps, streamed through
the screen door in hysteria, and watched from the windows as my uncle went out
with his shotgun and blew the rattlesnake into multiple pieces. It had chased
us all out of the woods, down the hill, across the yard, and into the house. I know some say snakes won't chase you; but, yes they will.