Happy Friday — we’re back with more Hot Bones on this broiling October day.

Because this is a weekly newsletter and not a paperback novel, I’ve never dedicated an edition to someone. But this week I’d like to thank the one and only Ryan Weicht, a friend and artist who created the amazing illustrations for today’s top story.

You should also thank him, because otherwise you’d be in for some jump scare animal pics off my camera roll. Things are much more palatable when there’s an orange cartoon coffee mug involved.

Check out the rest of Ryan’s work here.

Do one long thumb scroll for more Cville-specific updates like local events, cool houses, and pets to adopt.

🐶 Speaking of pets: Zoey! This shepherd x lab mix is ready to go on those jogs you’ve been talking about, and she’s also down to warm your toes while you have a quiet reading morning instead (3 years old, 50 lbs).

🐱 Plus Maple, a mystery cat who will read your soul with a single look.

A few weeks ago, something important happened, but I haven’t written about it in Hot Bones because it wasn’t funny and ridiculous yet. Now, it’s getting there.

So here goes.

G, Frannie, and I had decided to spend the weekend at my parents’ place out in the Blue Ridge. They were gone and we’d have the place to ourselves.

We got settled, throwing open doors and windows as we unpacked. Dinner at sunset at a restaurant in town, with dessert on the couch for G and me, and a Greenie in her kong for Frannie. The late-summer crickets chirped outside and the lamps by the fireplace cast a glow softer and kinder than any iPhone ever will. All was well.

And the cherry on top: “Let’s go to bed early,” we both said after a single episode of Jeopardy.

So while Frannie was circling her bed thousands of times and G was brushing her teeth, I put on my pjs and went to the kitchen to get a glass of water. And that’s when I saw something out of the corner of my eye, surely a shadow. But also still moving. Slowly. Slithering.

This is a story about the snake in my parents’ house! Again!

It’s a parable in three parts:

I. Seeing double

II. Or maybe ghosts

III. Actually, who cares

One of the first Hot Bones editions I ever wrote was about the black snake that G and I found under the bed in my parents’ guest room a few years ago. In fact, the experience is partly what inspired me to start HB in the first place: changing climates and extreme weather → shifting habitats for creatures like snakes → more snakes where you don’t want them → what the hell are we doing about this.

That first house snake encounter was a fairly quick affair. With a fire poker and the dog’s chuck-it, the whole family pushed the snake out of our room, down the hall, and out the front door like the least relaxing game of shuffle board you’ll ever play. But then it was over and all we had to do was shiver every time we saw a cord or backpack strap or hose or anything remotely shoulderless and reptilian.

This time was different.

“G, keep the dog in our room and close the door,” I said over my shoulder, careful not to break eye contact with the small black and green snake roiling on the floor next to the sink.

"What? I can’t hear you!"

“Jesus Christ," I whispered. “We’re doomed.”

In one motion, I turned, opened the pantry, grabbed a broom, and pivoted back into ready position.

But there was no longer a snake.

“What, what’s the matter?” G said as she walked down the hall toward me.

“Stop moving. Snake. Get the dog in our room.”

She sprinted into our bedroom, needing no additional motivation to get the hell away from her least favorite of god’s majestic creatures. But to G’s credit, she came straight back, knees buckling with each step, to help me.

And boy did I need help. The only thing worse than finding a snake in your house is knowing there’s a snake in your house but not knowing where. I looked away for three seconds and the slippery dude had vanished into one of the thousands of nooks, crannies, corners, closets, and — so sad — possibly even the wine cabinet.

“Okay. What’s our first move?” G asked.

“Grab me a fire prodder and turn on as many lights as you can,” I said while staring at the last spot I’d seen the snake. “This is going to suck.”

We then spent the next two hours going room by room, me out front, G right behind, looking for any hint of slithery movement. When we got to the living room, every couch and chair had to be pushed aside with the fervor of a 6 am crossfit class.

“Okay, moving the couch on one, two, three.”

“AHHH—”

“Just a cord. Just a light cord.”

“I want to die now, please,” G said.

“Agreed. But we haven’t looked under the appliances yet.”

“Okay.”

We walked into the kitchen, and in the panic of the moment I went cheek to cheek with the floorboards, admiring the sheer amount of dust and dog hair and, sadly, still no snake. Same under the oven.

It was nearly midnight, our early night in was ruined hours ago, Frannie was wailing at the bedroom door, desperate to be included in whatever we were doing without her, even if it’s pure misery.

“Maybe we just leave?”

“Like, go home to Charlottesville?”

“Yeah. It’s so late.”

“It would be pretty shitty to leave a snake for your parents to deal with. Maybe we sleep with a towel under the door. And figure it out in the morning.”

“Okay maybe. Let’s try one more thing first though.”

We turned out all the lights, pounding our feet away from the scene of the crime, toward Frannie and bed. Maybe we can trick the snake into thinking we’re leaving, and it’ll come out of hiding. Of course, then we’ll still have to deal with it. But at least then it’ll be out of the house for good.

I clicked on a massive flashlight, you know the ones that are so heavy they’re also duty-grade police batons, and crept back into the kitchen. And wouldn’t you know it, I witnessed the snake dropping out of a hole in the cabinetry like a Navy Seal. I shined the flashlight on its wriggly body and it froze in midair.

Then it went back into its secret lair and didn’t come out ever again. Mainly because we stuffed two constitutional law textbooks under the gap (a perfect fit, by the way), and went to bed.

I remember my grandmother telling me, years ago, that when she and my grandpa lived near Hollymead (literally when it was farmland, not a Target), they had two snakes that lived in their fireplace.

“They never hurt us,” she said. “They just had their spot over there, and on sunny days they’d move to the stoop for the sunshine.”

“What did you do if you needed to leave the house?” I asked, appalled.

“I guess we just stepped over them.”

She told me all this like you’d tell someone that you like yogurt for breakfast or that green is your favorite color. Nothing unusual, just a thing happening in the world.

I thought about that conversation many times while I tossed and turned in bed after SnakeGate 2.0, in between dreams of massive pythons eating through legal textbooks and crawling into my bed.

“Marbury v. Madison says don’t harm snakes!” it would whisper in my dreams. “Your grandmother knew that, you cold-blooded traitor!”

And then I’d wake up again, shine my flashlight under the sheets to confirm no garter snakes were burrowing at my feet or chanting landmark court cases through forked tongues, and fall back asleep.

Things were better in the morning.

G and Frannie got up first. They went for a long walk, and by the time I woke up I could smell coffee brewing.

I scampered through the house and joined them on the back porch.

“Did you see the snake this morning?” I said.

“Not a bit,” G said, sipping her coffee and looking out at the mountains.

“Are you not worried?”

“You know, I’m not.”

“What. Why?”

“I’ve been thinking about this a lot. We know it’s not venomous. The google page said ‘harmless’ in big letters. We’ve plugged the hole. Nothing else we can do now.”

She looked back at the slant of light on the mountains. Daytime often makes things easier.

“Huh.”

“We’ve got a little phantom roommate.”

It took a few hours, but eventually I reached a proper resting heart rate too with the snake potentially still in the house. It was almost a zen state: a hint of danger inside every cabinet and around every corner, but with a deep sigh of relief with every confirmation of the snake’s absence. I’ve had way worse roommates than this guy.

In fact, in some ways, the snake was the perfect roommate. Quiet, leaves the room when you come in, doesn’t smoke weed or play video games (no thumbs), and takes care of the mouse problem your landlord’s been avoiding.

And like G said, garter snakes aren’t venomous. They’re actually the state snake of Virginia. Plus, we were leaving in a few hours and our much-more-capable neighbor promised to come by and plug the hole.

As a practitioner of hindsight, I believe we probably should have closed the front door when unpacking that Friday night. Or my parents should check for cracks in their basement when they get back from vacation. Legally speaking, who’s to say whose fault this really is.

By the time we left, I felt more connected to our local snake community, but I was still thrilled to be home in Charlottesville in a fully-sealed, citified house. I know in my heart that snakes are vital parts of our ecosystem. It’s just my damn hard-wired fear center that’s continually killing the understanding vibe.

So, seeking wisdom and a proper generosity of spirit, I emailed my friend Sarah at Rockfish Wildlife Sanctuary — the local nonprofit that helps heal injured and orphaned animals and return them to the wild.

“Snakes are absolutely essential to maintaining any semblance of a healthy ecosystem,” she told me, “yet they often don’t get that credit.”

For example, they help control rodent populations, including invasive species like house mice and Norway rats. And as a huge bonus, when they do this “they also help control something we can all agree on disliking: ticks!”

“Snakes rather famously do not have arms, so they can’t pick off dirt or bugs from their prey,” she said.

“When a snake finds something it would like to eat, they swallow it whole … including anything that’s hitching a ride on that prey. Ticks, fleas, mites, and other unsavory critters that do genuinely pose a threat to human health go down the hatch!”

Crazy stat: “Models based on timber rattlesnake feeding behavior in western North Carolina show that one rattlesnake gets rid of up to 4,500 ticks per feeding site each year.”

If you know someone who’s ever gotten Lyme disease or Alpha-gal, tell them that snakes are their new best friend.

Sarah also reassured me on a crucial point: “No snake species in Virginia, or the United States, views any human as prey. Not even small humans! We are exclusively predators to them, and snakes want what any prey animal wants from its predator: to hopefully not be seen.”

Hence the tiny escape hatch under the kitchen cabinets. Model behavior. My parents are going to love their new phantom roommate when they get back.

🌎 Festival of the week: Party for the Planet is happening tonight at IX Park, with live music, food trucks, activities for kiddos, and community awards. Free, 5:30 pm – 8 pm.

🌳 Free nature things: The Cville Dep of Utilities is giving away free native trees starting on Monday, October 5, and the next drawing for e-bike vouchers is open until October 31.

🏠 Historic house of the week: 1874 yellow farmhouse with a wrap-around porch, classic built-ins in the dining room, and a massive backyard (3 beds, 3 baths, for $440k north of Lexington). Also the tallest tub you’ll ever see.

🏡 Cool rental of the week: Yet another cute Belmont cottage, this time with solar panels on the roof and a screened-in back porch (3 beds, 2 baths for $2,500/month).

🚲 Time change for the group ride: Fyi that the Saturday morning City Market bike ride now starts at 10 am, which leaves plenty of time for bloody marys at Botanical after.

🌸 Learn about gardening in tiny spaces: at the next Piedmont Master Gardeners free speaker series event. This one’s all about gardening in unlikely spaces, from “hellstrips” and containers to awkward corners and planter boxes (Tuesday, October 6 at 5:30 pm).

🛋️ Plus, fix your old broken stuff: There’s a repair cafe at UVA’s Shannon Library next Thursday, October 8, where you can learn how to fix broken lamps and lights. Free, 4 pm – 7 pm.

💼 Job of the week: Deputy Director of Parks and Rec for the city ($105k – $129k). Closing date is 10/19.

💾 Remote job: Director of Social Media at the Sierra Club ($140k – $150k).

☕ A big congrats to the Rivanna River Co continuing to build cool things down by the river — first a sauna, now a full-service coffee shop with drinks from JBird Supply and pastries from MarieBette.

🗑️ Plus, don’t forget that there are more themed waste days for responsible disposal of old crap this October at Ivy Recycling, including appliance collection this Saturday and tire collection next week.

Have an event or rec you’d like to share? Hiring? Interested in advertising? Share any and all info here.

Or better yet, want to share your sustainability story? You can do that here.

📚 Pilgrim at Tinker Creek made Annie Dillard a literary celebrity (oxymoron?), but it was the natural world that always held her heart. She died this September at age 81, and this piece does a great job of helping us understand what made her tick. Tinker Creek, by the way, is not too far away from us, just outside Roanoke.

🎙️ I’ve been enjoying listening to this new podcast called Energy Frenemies, cohosted by a former Greenpeacer, a former Exxon exec, and a conservative clean energy leader. It’s a little insider-baseball at times, but the premise is universal: We need more energy that’s reliable, cheap, and clean. How do we get there?

📖 I couldn’t stop nodding along with this piece on how imagination and climate science need to have a symbiotic relationship, to curate emotions instead of just evidence. Bring on the narrative transportation.

📸 Bonus: Awesome pictures from a group bike ride through the French Alps during a heatwave. The writeup is great too.