05/05/2023

A Case of Curiosity

Outside my office window sits a discarded garden bed. 

The silvered wooden planks wrap around a thicket of weeds, dying pineapple plants, and stones dumped out from a recently used weed collection bucket. It’s a dismal sight on its own; a reminder of the previous owner’s well-intentioned efforts to give the backyard some love and character. 

An array of critters flock to the neglected garden bed. When our pineapple plants were alive and well, squirrels would sneak up and viciously chew at the small pineapples growing atop their stems. Anoles perch themselves on the thin edge of the silvered beams, flashing their dewlaps at one another, and chasing after small bugs. 

Our resident baby iguana will creep out of the underside of the stucco on our house to scope out a better vantage point on the garden bed. He makes calculated movements as he preys on dragonflies that linger and dance across the weed-covered pavers. 

Rabbits dart across the garden bed in the early mornings, springing across the rubbled soil as if it were a trampoline. Only to land onto the thick bed of grass that spreads out like a sea between our back patio and the neighbour’s clean white fence.

We’ve spotted a hawk crouching beside the garden bed and overhanging shrub, in chase of some poor creature he plucked from the base. His impressively powerful wings bashed against the aging slats as he took off, with his prize secured in his beak.

We’ve watched a bobcat lurk across the patio, eyeing the garden bed as the resident lizards skittered away at his looming presence. 

To my horror, though, the most shocking of all the creatures our jilted garden bed has attracted has been a family of black racer snakes. 

Precariously balancing on the edge of the garden bed walls, a thick black figure teetered along in my peripherals one morning. The sight of him made me jump, sending a pang of fear and morbid curiosity from my head to my toes. In the past when people here have boldly assumed that, as an Australian, the sight of dangerous creatures leaves me unfazed, I’ve politely proclaimed, “I’m not bothered by spiders, but I don’t fuck with snakes.”

Reluctantly, I watched the snake. I was partially horrified to know he possibly lived harmoniously in the stucco with the iguana. I found that I was quietly intrigued by him. His scales shone in the harsh morning sun as he wobbled awkwardly against the breeze. He was closing in on an unsuspecting anole who sat at the edge of the garden bed. I held my breath as he made his strike, but missed the jumpy reflexes of the anole. 

As hard as I tried to concentrate on the article in front of me that had a pressing deadline, all I could do was watch the damn snake. His movements were elegant as he weaved in and out of the slats and onto the pavers. 

For the longest time, I’d accepted that my fear of snakes was perfectly rational. The occasional sight of one on our walks or in the backyard made me shudder. Meanwhile, Justice, the true Floridian that he is, would try to scoop up any rat snake he could find just to say “hello,” to the creature. Blech. 

Now as I sat at my desk, attentively watching a snake move about the dishevelled garden bed, I was more fascinated than afraid. 

Throughout April, I’ve kept a keener eye on the garden bed. Sometimes one of the smaller black racers will pop up in the surrounding grass, its head looming out of the greenery like a blurry snap of the loch ness monster. Other times I’ll just catch the flicker of a tail across the pavers or mistake a dancing weed for that same graceful movement of a snake. 

Initially, I assumed this was paranoia. Constantly diverting my attention away from my work to ensure that the snake wasn’t there. But as the weeks rolled on, I found myself actually wanting to see the snake. I wanted to watch his weird and wonderful movements again. I wanted to see him teeter on the slats and admire his glossy scales in the morning sun. 

While I still don’t ever want to pick up a snake or keep one as a pet (much to Justice’s dismay), I do think there is something to be said for looking at the things that frighten you. 

Understanding our fears can help us to learn about ourselves. Perhaps my initial disdain for snakes came from the fact that their movements felt foreign and strange to me, otherwise known as “icky.” But seeing a snake in its natural context, bumming around my garden bed like any other Florida reptile, suddenly made it a lot less scary. 

Sometimes, it can help to see our fears in a different context. One that we can face, and even reconcile with. 

This month, I encourage you to look at the disregarded garden beds in your own life – what’s lurking there?

Food For Thought

What's something you're afraid to face?
Email me your answer.

“Joy as resistance.”
―This bloke on TikTok