How to Kill a Rattlesnake in Your House

overcoming fears, finding courage, and using better judgment || October newsletter

Oct 30, 2023

In our ten years of marriage, I can think of two times I’ve called Rich and started the conversation with, “I did something. And I think you’re going to be mad.”1 Both calls involved broken windows.2

The most recent call was a few weeks ago. Out of breath and shaking, I called to tell him I broke a window, and a rattlesnake slithered into our house.

Maybe I should start at the beginning.

On a Tuesday afternoon, Nora and I were outside, enjoying the warm fall weather, and she asked for a shovel to dig with. I remembered seeing a small shovel on the other side of the house, so I started walking in that direction.

We live on the prairie, and rattlesnakes are, unfortunately, something we have in our yard. Not a daily occurrence, but enough to be cautious of and to teach the kids about. On top of that, I was already on high alert because, just the day before, Nora spotted a baby rattler just a couple of feet from her; at the exact same time, one of our employees killed a big rattlesnake in our driveway. Since we were outside basking in the sunshine, I knew it was possible the snakes were still out too. And sure enough, as soon as I turned the corner of the house, there was a rattlesnake.

But on this day, no one else was around, so I was on my own with the snake. I ran back to Nora and picked her up, then I ran to the garage and grabbed the hoe—the one I specifically bought for these occasions (but I also hoped to never use). With Nora by my side, I slowly walked up behind the snake—hoping for a sneak attack, that it wouldn’t even see me with its beady little eyes. I took one tentative whack at it, missing. Then it coiled up and let me know it wasn’t happy. At this point, I probably should have gone into the house and pretended I didn’t see the snake. But I really, really dislike snakes, especially rattlesnakes, and I just couldn’t let it go.

I stood there for a few seconds, trying to figure out my next move. The snake was looking at me, and I was looking at it. Nora stood beside me, barefoot and chattering. I couldn’t decide how close I had to get to reach it with the hoe, and when you’re staring down the eyes of a venomous nope-rope, any amount of distance seems too close. And after missing once, my nerves were already on edge.

I took another tentative whack at it, but then it crawled away from me and down into the window well. Soon, our house cat, Fred, lumbered around the house. He was also outside enjoying the sunshine, taking a break from his normal midday nap. As the saying goes, “Curiosity killed the cat.” He heard the rattling and peered over the window well, down at the snake. “Fred, get away from there!” I yelled, shaking my hoe toward him, trying to get his attention. I imagined driving him to the vet, not knowing if our 10-year-old cat could survive a rattlesnake bite. Finally, Fred decided the rattling didn’t sound fun and walked away.

I thought about using the hoe down in the window well but wasn’t sure I could get a good angle, and at this point, I was just scared. Then, I thought, “Get a rock and smash it!” What a great idea! I wouldn’t have to get close to the snake, and even if it didn’t kill it, the rock would hold it in place until Rich came home and he could deal with it! Win-win!3

At the same moment, another thought crossed my mind, “If you throw a rock by a window, it’s possible you’ll break the window, and the snake will get into the house. Can you imagine how bad that would be?!

But fear was my compass on that day, and the rock seemed to be the only answer. So, leaving my better judgment behind me, I ran to the front of the house and grabbed a big landscaping rock from around a tree. I knew a little rock just wouldn’t do! Big snake = big rock! I came around the house, and despite wishing the snake away, it was still there.

You know when you do something and immediately wish you could take it back? Before the rock even hit the ground, I knew I made a mistake. The rock bounced, crashing through the single-pane window. The snake started hissing and rattling, and in slow motion, I stuck my hoe down into the window well, dumbly thinking I could stop the snake with it. But, in a scene straight from a horror movie, the rattlesnake followed the rock—right into our basement.

I’m not sure if I cursed out loud or only in my head, but I remember Nora yelling, “Mama, the snake’s in the house!!” With the hoe gripped in my hand, I ran, taking my Crocs to speeds they’d never seen before.

Running around the house, I pictured the snake crawling away, curling up behind a wall or under a freezer, somewhere we couldn’t reach it. I knew I would never be able to sleep knowing a rattlesnake was on the loose in the house. If I didn’t find the snake, I would be forced to burn the house down—and that’s a call I didn’t want to make.

Once I hit the bottom step, I heard the telltale rattle. I think I blacked out at this point, my soul leaving my body—but I kept moving, jogging across our unfinished basement. Once again, I wished this was a nightmare I would soon wake up from, but there, the snake lay under the broken window, coiled on the concrete on the shattered glass, hissing and rattling.

I don’t remember if I hesitated or took a breath to steady myself, but with courage I didn’t have minutes earlier, I struck the snake repeatedly until I severed its head. I stood there, panting and shaking, and Nora came up behind me, arriving in the basement after I left her outside in a panic.

Out of breath, I went upstairs and called Rich, telling him parts of the story, starting with the broken window but not telling him why I broke the window. I buried the lede, telling him a rattlesnake got into the said window, but I didn’t immediately tell him the snake was dead. (I’m an excellent storyteller.) I’m sure he thought I was calling to tell him that a rattlesnake was alive and hiding in the basement, and could you please come home and find it?

A few hours later, he came home, and I retold the story from start to finish while he put plywood into the broken window frame. We both laughed—although I was still shaky, my adrenaline wearing off.

I judged myself for my irrational decision to use a rock near a window and told Rich how dumb I was. But he disagreed. He said he was proud of me, saying not many people could do what I did, adding, “It could have been worse. Just chalk it up to another farm life story.”

So here we are—another farm story.

One I hope to never tell again.

Farm Happenings

At the beginning of October, we shipped our calves. Months of hard work paid off, literally, as shipping the calves = payday for our ranch. The steer calves were purchased by AgriBeef in Idaho but will be fed in a feedlot in Montana to become beef next spring. One load of heifer calves went to another ranch in Montana, and the rest we kept to become mama cows in our own herd.

Ahead of the snow (the weather always dictates the schedule!), the crew spread fertilizer on the growing winter wheat. Technically, we are “done” farming for the year, but there’s still plenty of shop work to be done—repairing equipment for next year and general maintenance to keep the farm & ranch running year-round.

We’re moving into a slower time,4 the short days of light often dictating the work days. I’ll admit, I enjoy the sun setting sooner, as it means Rich will be home earlier.5 The crew is continuing to haul grain to the elevators, working to have the bins empty by spring. The crew also put up a bin in our yard, which was quite the process to watch, giving me butterflies while they lifted the bin with a crane onto a hopper base.

Up next: continuing to haul grain, hauling the cows home from summer pasture, and gearing up for calving season.

Lately, I’m . . .

Reading: this devotional by Emily Jensen—the devotions are short but meaningful. I loved this beautiful and sad short story on audio,6 which left me wanting more. I’m also halfway through another HSK book, which is making me laugh and envious of his writing skills (especially his use of humor). I flew this memoir in two days, not because the writing was especially great, but because I feel like I grew up with Britney. She’s only three years older than me, so her rise to fame came during my adolescent years. It’s terrible all that happened to her, and I hope she finds her happily ever after.

Watching: college football and not much else! I’m up for suggestions on a worthwhile series to watch. TBH, I find most current shows not worth the time that could be spent sleeping or reading.

Wearing: my “going to town” snow boots from last year that keep my feet warm and dry but aren’t practical for on the farm. And this down jacket, which I love, but the first time Rich saw it, he said, “It looks like calf scours.” Ah, the life of being married to a farmer/rancher. For the record, the color is almond butter.

Cooking: two different kinds of lentil soup. The French lentil soup from this cookbook was too salty. The second soup I made was too bland. So I’m still on the hunt for the “perfect” recipe, as Rhett already requested I bring lentil soup to the field next summer during lentil harvest.

Baking: Allie’s 7th birthday cake and this super rich peanut butter poke cake.

Singing: along to one of my favorite Christian songs.

Listening: to this podcast episode with Krista Gilbert that made me cry thinking about traditions and milestones with our kids as they get older. After listening, I started making plans for future birthdays and celebrations.

Sharing: this short piece about the physicality of motherhood and learning to let go, this one about my breastfeeding journey on C+C, and this one with drone shots of our chickpea harvest—throwing it back to the olden days of Insta when we shared pics without long captions.

Buying: this makeup bag that is supposedly amazing (I haven’t had it long enough to say quite yet).

Planting Season

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