I started out on hands and knees cultivating and pulling the tiny little weeds, but just beside me was a mound of compost that had not been spread topped with a tiny layer of hay mulch over the top. I decided to get the rake and pull the hay off, spread the compost, and weed that area before planting anything. I pulled back the hay and it was writhing underneath. WRITHING. My eyes are itchy and a little blurry, but I knew it was snakes! YES, SNAKES, with an S. Six to be exact!
I've always been afraid of snakes, always. Irrationally and unexplainably afraid of them, but last year I found a tiny one and I picked it up and proudly showed my husband that I was facing my fear. I even re-located it gently to a new place, squelching the urge to throw it far, far away from me. I was so very proud. I willingly touched a snake, held it even. But somehow SIX of the little buggers was just toooooooo much for me. I tried to conquer it, got a different rake, tried to shoo them away (while standing up on a concrete curb-like thing). They just wouldn't cooperate and I couldn't face the thought of one of them slithering over my foot. COULD. NOT.