Blog a la Cart

Wherein I handle myself like Samuel L. Jackson, but with none of the badass.

I had a ‘moment’ with a rattlesnake.

I hate that I am able to say that.

MOTHERFUCKING SNAKES IN THE MOTHERFUCKING WOODS.

Okay, that statement is totally as it should be, but regardless, it had to be said.

I blame marrying someone who loves the deep, dark, secluded wilderness.

Everything can be traced back to James. I blame him.

And by “moment with a rattlesnake,” I mean that I had to personally interface with a snake. A snake that rattles. And has venomous fangs. And lay but 4 feet in front of my person summoning a chorus of maracas with its tail, a signal to “BACK OFF BITCH!” all the while clutching my 15 month old, and staring helplessly at my puppy who had managed to get herself on the OTHER SIDE of the snake.

And that man that we’re blaming for this encounter, yeah, he was not present for said encounter.

So it was like a personal rendez-vous between me and a snake with the most important things in the world under my care.

What a dream date.

You see, we spent this past weekend in the Poconos at James’ parents’ cabin, and they decided that it would just be oodles of fun if we stayed at another cabin 30 minutes away from civilization, sans electricity and potable water, for one night.

Oodles of fun for people like James and his father who love nothing more than to commune with nature, and fish for their dinner, and inspect bugs and insects, and listen to coyotes howling, and stare at the stars while being mauled by mosquitoes, and not be able to see their own hands within .001 inches of their faces because of the all-consuming darkness and lack of man-made-light.

For people like me, it’s like waterboarding, except I’m left with huge itchy welts all over my body, so like totally worse. But hey, one night? I can do anything for 24 hours.

Okay, maybe not the “pushing” part of natural childbirth or keeping my mouth shut. But ALMOST anything.

A group of us went on a walk that afternoon to get a view of the area, but unfortunately Addison was having NONE of this nature walk (her mother in the making?) and began to have a magnitude 10 meltdown. The entire state of California couldn’t compete with her tremble.

I volunteered to walk back to the house with her and Hanna because while Hanna is incredibly enthusiastic and eager to go on adventures with us, she is also our happy, fat kid, and does NOT have the stamina for longer excursions. I didn’t want that 50 lb dog collapsing in the wilderness, forcing me to carry her back home, something I admittedly had to do earlier this summer. Lugging a furry, 50lb, panting, squirming beast down a mountain is less-than-ideal or graceful.

And we all know that I am the epitome of grace. *snicker*

One of my father-in-law’s friends from college volunteered to walk back with me, and so we began the journey home to the wails of a frustrated 15-month old. As we departed, James casually said, “Keep Hanna close and watch out for rattlesnakes.”

You’d think that I would have paid heed to this warning, but I blithely waved my hand and said, “Sure, sure,” believing I had a better chance of confronting Big Foot than a rattlesnake.

We were in Pennsylvania for crying out loud, not the wild wild west.

Hanna sprinted ahead of us along the trail, and but 400 yards from the cabin, we were met with a sound that deafened Sunny’s screams of discontent. It was like a band of maracas had begun a concert in the woods. I looked around wildly for a troupe of Latino musicians and instead was met with a very unhappy, coiled, rattling snake.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

God, I am eloquent. AND original.

If I were all by myself I would have crapped my pants and run screaming in the other direction. But since Hanna was bumbling along on the other side of the very large, very menacing, very upset rattling snake, instead I just crapped my pants and stood there staring like an idiot.

How the fuckity fuck fuck fuck was I going to keep my dog for winding up in an epic brawl with a rattlesnake?

WHY HAD JAMES NOT TAUGHT ME THIS?! Screw teaching me how to cast a fly rod, or unclog the toilet, or update software on my iPhone. That’s what I married him for, to do that shit on my behalf. But he was not there to help keep that untrained black pup away from the intriguing rattle of that snake.

What James HAD taught me about rattlesnakes is that their venom couldn’t kill a full grown adult, so Dan and I were fine. I mean, not fine, because the amount of therapy I would require were the snake to strike me would be enough to drive us into bankruptcy, but I wouldn’t die. And Dan wouldn’t die. We would just be ragingly sick and fucked up by going through a snake strike. But not so much the case for my two dependents where mortality was on the line.

For a brief moment, Hanna lay down and waited for us to stop standing around like morons, wetting our pants, and grabbing for sticks because WHAT THE HELL ELSE COULD WE DO. That gave Dan enough time to get hold of a long branch and for us to debate whether or not that angry coiled reptile would do a slow-mo lurch toward either of us if we attempted to pass him.

We had yet to come to a conclusion on this matter when Hanna got sick of waiting around and happily began prancing down toward the still rattling snake. No amount of “NO HANNA! STAY HANNA! STOP HANNA! YOU FUCKING MORON YOU’RE ABOUT TO GET IN A BATTLE WITH A DEADLY SNAKE, HANNA!” would pause her progress, so Dan stepped up, because I clearly was of no use, if not for the baby I had clutched in my death grip, but for the soiled pants that were going to heed any forward momentum to intervene.

Dan swept in a la MacGyver  and threw that branch between dog and snake, batting Hanna away from the rattling and distracting the snake long enough so that he himself could make it safely around to the other side and grab hold of the dog.

Now, I was on one side, and they were on the other side, and that snake was still shepherding in a Cuban dance party by way of its tail.

We decided to try the whole distraction trick again, so Dan awkwardly shook the bushes on one side of the snake, while I tip-toed around the other side with Addison clutched to my chest. She who had been so loud and annoying was suddenly quiet as a mouse, probably sensing the crippling fear with which I held her.

I made it around without provoking a scene straight out of “Animal Planet.”  You know, slow motion snake strike lurching toward my ankles (a vision I had been replaying in my mind as a very real possibility ever since I’d first caught sight of the rattler).

We hustled back to the cabin, shell shocked, hearts racing, high fiving one another for so “cleverly” outsmarting that snake, and poured ourselves two healthy servings of rum to wash away the bad bad feelings.

James’ father was at the cabin when we returned as he had been out on the lake fishing rather than on a “boring” nature walk, because FISHING is just SO riveting.

When we told him that we had just survived an encounter with a rattlesnake without the death of dog or toddler, and merely a broken spirit (soiling yourself from fright will do that to a person), his response was as follows:

“THAT IS SO TOTALLY AWESOME! I AM SO JEALOUS! Man, Ash, I’m so happy that you got to see a real, LIVE rattlesnake! HOW COOL!”

And that’s when I punched him in the gonads.

And now I’ve been disowned from the family.

Moral of the story: Rattlesnakes are real and can happen to you. And, when in doubt, blame James.

Obsession.

When you surprise me with champagne to celebrate our 2 year anniversary, and decorate the table in cotton balls because “cotton” is the traditional 2nd anniversary gift.

(this is days in advance of the ACTUAL anniversary because we will be with a crowd of people dressed in red and black hurling tomatoes at each other in the woods on the real day. Isn’t this how everyone spends their labor day?)

Annoyance.

Email me this and tell me “This is how it can feel.”

Now all I can do is cry and cradle Addison and threaten her to “NEVER GROW UP AND LEAVE MOMMY. NEVER.”

Thought.

James and I have become people that drink night caps. Night caps of Baileys.

who are we?!

Sunshine.

Ew. Mommy tooted.

No Sew Fleece Blanket

The other morning I woke up and let the dogs out and I could feel the change in season. That moment when you sense the richer, more golden tones of the sun and the bite in the air that signals the end of summer and the beginning of fall.

Fall is by far my most favorite time of year, something I missed dearly while living in the land of perpetual summer. Cozy sweaters. The smell of burning leaves. The painted mountains of oranges, and golds, and reds. Hot apple cider. Knitting with purpose. And football.

Now that I’m back in my collegiate motherland, I’ll be attending every home football game and cheering joyously on the sidelines bedecked in purple and gold and all things cow. (Hey, we may be a small school, but we are dang proud of our mascot). So today’s DIY is a simple homage to this impending chilly season: The DIY No Sew Blanket. That’s right NO sewing, and wouldn’t you know that fleece is made from recycled plastic bottles! So go cozy up in the bleachers with a no-sew blankie, a mug of hot cider, and cheer your face off!

Materials:
– 2 pieces of fleece fabric in the colors or patterns of your choice. The pieces should be slightly larger than you’ll want the finished blanket to be. I used a basic piece of yellow fleece, and a waffled piece of purple fleece to add some texture to the blanket.
– Scissors
(Yeah, it’s so simple that even our mother made some of these for Christmas gifts a couple holidays back, and she is the antithesis of crafty).

Directions:
1. Begin by laying the two pieces of fleece on top of one another, and lining up the edges precisely. Then cut out the corners of the blanket, approximately 4″x4″ squares. Be sure to cut through both layers of fabric.

2. Next, you’ll cut “fringe” around the perimeter of the fabric. Space the cuts approximately 1.5″ apart, and cut approximately 4″ deep. Be sure that you are cutting through both pieces of fabric.

3. Once you have cut around the entire perimeter of the fabric, begin knotting the two pieces of fabric together using double knots. (Kimmy and I, as sailors, would recommend learning the square knot, but it is certainly not necessary).

4. Once the knotting is complete, you’re done! Go snuggle up in the bleachers, or under an apple orchard!

Photos: Courtesy of Ashley Weeks Cart