Copperhead

Aunt Frances was one of my grandmother’s younger sisters. By the time I came along, she lived alone in a house near what was left of the family homestead. Mother went to visit her from time to time, I think because Aunt Frances understood Mother’s mental illness and had compassion for her struggle.

One time early in the morning we were there and I was sitting on the steps of the house. I could see the chickens casually scratching through the freshly fallen leaves and hopefully pecking the ground. There was an earthy smell and a slight coolness to the normally hot and humid air. I looked down to my right and saw a snake coiled up on the ground. I knew to report such things; I was probably 3 or 4.

Mother was visibly panicking while Aunt Frances calmly retrieved the shotgun she kept loaded for protection, went outside and blew the Copperhead away to snake heaven.

Mother never drove a car so my grandmother drove us to see Aunt Frances several times that I remember. Most of those times were peaceful and largely uneventful. 

My grandmother’s ex-husband, my grandfather, also went to visit her from time to time.

Sometimes he took me and Mother with him, most of the time he went alone. One of these times, he had me and Mother wait in the car, he said he needed to talk to her for a bit. He went into the house and found Aunt Frances had shot herself with that  same gun.