I cursed my brown mop of hair as I cranked the pedals up the hill. In the 70s my family lived on a steep hill that required stopping now and then to wipe the sweat from your eyes. Climbing steep hills on a single speed in the middle of a blazing SoCal afternoon is enough to make a boy feel like a man. Perhaps this world could use a few more single-speed bikes. Eventually, I climbed out of the canyon and coasted to Vern’s house.
I knocked on his door and Vern’s sweet wife Anna answered the door and led me to their backyard. Anna is a very petite woman who must be Italian from what I can remember of her accent. At 8 years old I may have jumped to that conclusion based on her amazing focaccia bread. I just assumed she had things to do that day so that’s why she didn’t follow me down to the garden. I soon discovered why she stayed in the house…
Before I get to the garden I need to paint a word picture of Vern. He was a larger–than–life character with a blue-collar build, booming voice, and bushy eyebrows. His contagious laughter was unmistakable no matter what size of crowd he was in. He always greeted everyone with a firm handshake and a big toothy grin. I was introduced to Vern through our church. He used to go scuba diving with my Dad as well. I was lucky to be surrounded by great male influences at a young age but I think Vern treated me like the son he never had and I love him for that. I suspect that most people felt like family when they were around Vern.
As I approached the freshly tilled garden plot near the edge of a small canyon I saw Vern standing next to a large garbage can with a giant grin on his face. I wondered why he was so happy about trash. He motioned me to have a look. As I peered over the edge of the can I couldn’t believe my eyes. I shouted, “That’s a real live Southern Pacific Rattlesnake!” Our smiles mirrored one another. He knew how much I loved reptiles. At seven I was positive I was going to be a herpetologist (a zoologist who studies reptiles and amphibians) for the rest of my life. I stayed hours after school hunting lizards each day. I begged for books on the subject. I was captivated by these animals. I watched the 4-foot snake move around the bottom of the can. We both agreed the snake would be much happier to crawl around a little before the plants went in so he made me stand back as he slid the snake gently into the rich soil.
Vern had a snake stick to guide the snake and keep us safe. Then the snake suddenly coiled and sounded a rattle I’ll never forget. I’d never heard a real rattlesnake before. I’m sure I had the biggest smile possible the entire time we were out there. We gave the snake room and just watched it do what snakes do. I’ve been an adult for a few decades now so I know he probably had a lot of things to do in his life. He had a beautiful daughter about my age. On this day he took time out for a young autodidact to experience something amazing and maybe even a little dangerous. I will always remember and appreciate his great example. Don’t worry, he kept me safe and I already had a great respect for these snakes but it sure had my heart pounding.
I rode my bike to Vern’s a few more times that year but that first encounter with a danger noodle is one of my favorite memories. Snakes in gardens have a bad reputation but that day was an exception. On another occasion, my Mother received a call from Vern. A big rattlesnake was killed by an excavator or a scared operator. Vern was bringing it to me! Even when dead rattlesnakes can be a danger so the head was removed before I got it. I had heard rattlesnakes were edible and I always wanted to try some. This was my opportunity. When he arrived at the house I was amazed at how big it was.
I think it was over six feet and very thick. Full credit to my Mother, she was willing to bread it and cook it for me but only if I made it ready. I skinned and cleaned that snake and we (I) had rattlesnake for supper. It was better than I thought it would be but not as good as I hoped. I felt like a frontiersman eating what he could find to survive. My interest in colonial and pre-colonial American civilizations was just building steam at this point. I just love when I get to enjoy the intersection of two or more roads of knowledge. Sometimes it’s a slow-motion crash at a four-way intersection. Over time these connections can slowly weave a net of useful wisdom.
My family moved away from California a few years later and I became a rebellious teen so I had no contact with Vern for many years. In 2010 we reconnected through email. He always supported things my wife posted on Facebook and often asked how my family was doing. The last time I heard from him was a Christmas email in 2016. I was gutted when my Father sent me an email on October 19, 2020, explaining that Vern went for a bike ride and never came home. He passed away from a cardiac event while he was out. I thought to myself, “Can 2020 get any worse”? The answer is, yes. If anyone in Vern’s family reads this I want you to know this man changed my life and the lives of my children. Vern is a selfless and honorable man who made this world a better place.
Thank you, Vern.
Planting is in full swing here and my connection with Vern and the garden is alive and well. We traveled to San Diego right before covid shut everything down and I kicked myself for months for not stopping by Vern’s house to say hello. We were only there for three days but I could have made time. As I hold back tears as I type this I know I will see Vern’s smiling face and hear his big voice again but my advice to you is to make time while you still have time. Thanks for supporting my little Substack so that I can finally type my feelings about the man into the world. I obviously haven’t completed the grieving process. May you always shave a living root in your soil and a friend in your garden (but only snakes if you want them).
Adam
P.S. This song makes me think of my friend. Please listen to the words.
Wayfaring Stranger Live | Made of Ale Sessions | The Longest Johns
So touching to have those beautiful memories.
What a gift of a great bond.