June 1, 2005 My friend Bessie Mae Evans used to keep house for us when I was a kid. She was a fountain of lore, especially when it came to snakes. She knew which ones could hoop up and roll downhill and which ones would wrap you to a tree with their coils and beat you to death. (She claimed that they would stick the tip-end of their tail in your nose every now and then to see if you were still breathing, and if you were, they’d keep whipping.)
