Snake in the snow
In the coming weeks we鈥檒l anticipate bluebirds, skeins of flying Canada geese, and especially robins, as welcome signs of spring. In truth, though, if you鈥檝e been paying attention, you have likely spied all these birds from time to time all winter long. That is either a testament to their hardiness or a sign of climate in transition, likely both.
Here鈥檚 a real spring portent for you 鈥� a snake.
Snakes can鈥檛 deal with winter in the way of the birds cited above. Well, actually snakes do deal with winter.
They do so by retreating out of sight, and staying there.
They slip underground, into voids in rocky ledges, under rotting logs, or beneath some other shelter where they assume torpid inactivity, waiting for the sun鈥檚 strengthening rays to summon them to the surface. Around here, for most snake species, that鈥檚 generally sometime in April. Until now.
On Saturday, Feb. 20 鈥� the depth of winter by the calendar鈥檚 telling鈥搕he sun beamed with an eerie strength.
In the woods you could feel heat radiate from fallen brown leaves, and even in the mountains our thermometer registered 63 degrees by mid-afternoon.
I had come into the house and my wife was speaking to someone by cellphone.
She rushed into the room and motioned for me to follow, the phone still pressed to her ear. At a back window she pointed toward the ground beneath our bird feeder.
I followed her gaze but at first saw nothing amid the glaring reflection from snow, withered brown grass and heaps of sunflower hulls scattered amid the diminishing drifts.
Then my eyes picked it up 鈥� the graceful coils of a good-size snake, arrayed carefully among the snow patches in a bare spot flooded by sun.
The place it had chosen to bask was sloped, so that the rays struck there more directly. This snake knew how to make the most of conditions. I had never before seen a snake in February, unless it was on some southern excursion.
The snake was about two-and-a-half feet long, of a general reddish color, sporting bold brown bands across the body. It was an eastern milk snake, perfectly harmless and entirely beneficial from the human point of view. In warmer months when they鈥檙e active, milk snakes prey on small mammals like mice, rats and voles. And if you don鈥檛 like snakes, you might consider tolerating a milk snake around the homestead. According to my copy of Amphibians and Reptiles of Pennsylvania and the Northeast, although they adopt a mammalian diet as adults, young milk snakes prey heavily on small or the young of other snakes, swallowing them whole. Later, after it had absorbed more solar energy, this one seemed to investigate the excavated trails left behind in our yard by moles. But so recently aroused, it was all the snake could do to wriggle slowly about. I doubt it could have seized, coiled around and constricted a mole, which is the milk snake鈥檚 way of killing prey.
As I read about milk snakes in the volume cited above, I was surprised to learn that the earliest recorded observation of an active milk snake in Pennsylvania west of the milder coastal plain around Philadelphia was April 4. This one had emerged to sunbathe in typically wintry Wharton Township a full six weeks ahead of that date. My intent now is to internet-search for a way to contact Dr. Arthur C. Hulse, my reptile guide鈥檚 principal author, and report the date my wife luckily spotted a milk snake outside our window. Maybe he鈥檒l see this column. You never know with the way information bounces around the internet.
Milk snakes often frequent places around human habitation. In summer we dependably find one beneath the rubber welcome mat that lies at the foot of the front porch steps. If we disturb it, the snake simply crawls into a crack in the concrete beneath, then re-emerges when left alone. That tendency to be drawn to yards and buildings is an unfortunate trait for milk snakes because a lot of people are fooled by their superficial resemblance to the northern copperhead, which is venomous, and does exhibit a generally similar color and pattern. Many milk snakes are killed, needlessly, due to that gross resemblance.
Incidentally, the milk snake鈥檚 fondness for lawns and buildings explains how it got its name. Years ago, farmers frequently saw the species around their barns. From that fact grew the fantasy that milk snakes crawl into stalls, attach themselves to a dairy cow鈥檚 teats and feed on her milk. Utter myth, if you鈥檒l forgive the pun.
It鈥檚 not hard to tell milk snakes and copperheads apart. I was going to describe the differences but as acknowledged above, this is the age of the internet. Anyone interested can easily summon up excellent photographs and diagrams of every snake on the planet, compare, evaluate and then, hopefully, tolerate most wildlife they are fortunate enough to encounter.
The significant thing about this snake sighting was the date it happened. Nature is nothing if not full of surprises.