Who Ushered the Snakes out of Ireland?

Surely He Ushered the Snakes out of Ireland...  

It was hours before dawn when our Chocolate Lab pup became insistent about her "need to heed" the call of nature. The exact hour of this awakening is what the military refers to as “zero-dark-thirty”. There is no reasoning or arguing with man's best friend at that hour of the morning when one is confronted with a cold wet nose persistently interrupting your dreams. A cell phone is grabbed from the night stand, not for making calls or sending text messages... but to light the path through the pitch-black bedroom to prevent toes from being stubbed. Stubbing any of your toes at that hour would surely start your day “on the wrong foot”. One must move swiftly and surefooted through the dark... because the puppy has to “go”.

The bedroom door is swung open and the faithful companion hurriedly leads the way down the stairs through the dining room and the kitchen. The Promised Land (for dogs) lies just beyond the kitchen door. Rushing towards the back door which was soon to become the portal to relief, we both caught a glimpse of the family cat sitting in the kitchen, staring intently at the space between the refrigerator and the wall.  We have seen this posture before. More than likely our cat was  stalking a mouse. One could assume that the calico was looking to have a little fun with a mouse before breakfast, though it had been months since there had been evidence of any such critters in this hundred-year-old house. That critter-free phenomenon could probably be attributed to having an accomplished mouser in the house.  No time right now to stop and investigate what the cat is presently staring down... must first assure that my dog makes it to her Promised Land.

Standing outside on that brisk March morning here in the Midwest, one was quickly reminded of the fact that slippers were not donned before rushing outside. Body weight shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another ...impatiently waiting for the puppy to finish her business so we could head back to the warm confines of my bedroom. It was one of those frosty March mornings when you could see the dog’s breath steaming from her nostrils. Standing in the back yard, drinking in the light of the seldom-seen stars, it dawned on me that today we were to celebrate the Great Feast of St. Patrick with a party in our home.

Soon the house would be filled with the aroma of cabbage and corned beef in preparation for the annual dinner we share with family and friends. Barefoot and clad only in my dark green bathrobe seemed somewhat fitting, yet amusing, on this auspicious day.

As the dog played "ring around the rosy" widening the path encircling the ginkgo in the backyard, thoughts of yesterday's wonderful fishing trip came to mind. Even though the calendar had not yet proclaimed the beginning of Spring, it was decided that it was indeed the perfect time for a fishing trip. So confident that this was going to be “the” day to fill the freezer with fish, two dozen night crawlers were purchased before heading to what was thought to be a promising fishing hole.  Those worms looked so fat and juicy... one wonders if any fish on the earth could resist.  

Yesterday turned out to be perfect in every way for fishing .. but not for catching.  Of those two dozen crawlers, twenty-one (21) beautiful worms managed to escape from becoming lunch for bluegills, crappies, bass... or anything. Only three of these wriggling creatures ended their lives drowning while seated on a hook and suffering multiple cases of whiplash as they were repeatedly flung across different bodies of water. All in all, the day could be considered a success because it was a wonderful  opportunity to commune with God and His creation.

Among the great mysteries of the world being pondered yesterday while waiting for the first nibble of a worm was whether or not St. Patrick knew anything about fishing. We *do* know that  St. Patrick used the shamrock to explain the Most Holy Trinity in converting the heathens of that country to Christianity. Additionally, we have also heard stories how the saint drove the snakes out of the Emerald Isle ...but the more rational among us know that the theme of Patrick driving the snakes off the island probably just symbolizes the act of the saint forcing the devil and his legions out of the country. Or... could it really be true?  Could good ole Ireland really have been plagued with snakes and all other kinds of vipers before Patrick landed on the scene?

It was images of those legendary snakes that came to mind while walking up the steep trail from the isolated fishing lake back to the vehicle.  Climbing one of the highest hills in Southern Ohio, my eyes continually surveyed the trail ahead for evidence of any snakes that might be basking in the sun. The steep slopes of Croagh Patrick (Mount St. Patrick) in County Mayo Ireland were remembered with each step up the treacherous incline.  Each year a multitude of the faithful manage to climb that mountain, ...barefoot, as a sort of self-imposed penance.  Folks, ...one could just as easily (and a lot more cheaply) do their penance in the southern hills of Ohio... but it is strongly suggested that you keep your feet inside your shoes while walking in our hills.

One thing seems pretty certain and that is there were probably no snakes brave enough to confront the godly saint as he climbed Croagh Patrick.  Had a viper dared stick out its tongue to this man of god, it would have surely met its fate at the hand of Patrick's Irish walking stick ...or maybe his shillelagh.  With that in mind, a walking stick was quickly chosen for the rest of the journey up this (obviously) snake-infested trail. Funny how all of that comes to mind on a simple fishing trip the day before we were to celebrate this Great Saint's Feast Day.

So… if the holy man potentially ushered all of the snakes off the island… where in the world did they all go? Therein lies a great mystery. Inquiring minds want to know! Wonder if these exiled serpents could have joined forces with others here in the States? Having reached our sunny shores… could some have managed to wiggle themselves all the way to southern Ohio or even to my hometown? Yes, inquiring minds need to know! Surely, their current whereabouts would make for a fine tale being spun in neighborhood pubs.

Other than using the shamrock as his teaching tool, and seeing evidence of the great conversions to Christianity at his hands ...and the tales of him ushering all of the snakes off of the Emerald Isle, little else is known about this holy bishop. We know that the Great Saint lived and ministered on an island nation for most of his career and yet we celebrate his Feast Day each year with corned beef.  To be sure... St. Paddy never enjoyed a meal of corned beef and cabbage. More than likely his dinners would have been comprised of potatoes and fish.  After all, St. Patrick lived on an island... surrounded by water … and fish.

Surely, Patrick dined on the flesh of fish more than a few times, and following the call from Jesus, was probably both a fisher of men and a fisher of the kind that lives in the water (...an angler).  Wondering about the kind of bait ole St. Pat might have used to catch his dinner. If Paddy didn’t use those outcast snakes for bait, could he have used worms as luscious as these night-crawlers appear? Just wondering.... Would it be wrong to beg for the Great Saint's intercession for a selfish desire to catch just a fish or two on this fine day? No begging, ...no intercession, …no fish! Maybe that is just coincidence ...but next time...!

Nevertheless, that day was to be considered a complete success. Even without netting one meager fish, the opportunity was presented to grow closer to God and His creation. "God is good … All the Time!" One day after this religious experience and we were going to be celebrating the Great Saint's Feast Day with something other than fish. ...It is a good thing that this generation likes corned beef and cabbage.

Coming back in the house just as fast as she went out, our puppy bolted up the stairs to the Master bedroom. Both of  us had every intention of trying to catch a few more "Zzzzs" before officially starting the day. Following my dog a little more slowly, my eyes again focused on the cat that was now pawing at something in that dark area between the wall and the refrigerator.  Rather than have my wife be confronted by a furry mouse sometime as she prepared the food for the Great Feast, it was decided that *this* needed immediate attention. A broom was grabbed to be used either as a weapon ...or as a shield. Yes, it would have been comforting to me to have my watchdog by my side just in case the critter behind the refrigerator slipped through the paws of the cat or managed to avoid the swat of the broom… but puppy had long-ago raced up the stairs and presumably was already dreaming of chasing rabbits. Well...we would have to meet the beast without the aid of "ole faithful companion".

As my flashlight tried to illuminate the dark recesses of the kitchen, the cat edged forward, reaching her paw under the refrigerator. The cat appeared to have caught a mouse’s tail in her claws ...but when she slowly pulled it towards her... it became obvious that it was not a mouse but one of the longest worms ever seen.  The worm had stretched itself to the maximum length ...probably holding on for dear life, hoping to avoid becoming the cat’s breakfast. "No cat of mine is going to have a case of the worms!" The cat was obviously irritated when the huge worm was extricated from its claws and carried outside to be gently placed inside the flower garden.

Dusting off my hands upon re-entering the house, another huge worm was immediately discovered slithering toward the carpet of the living room.  So, another one was quickly ushered outside to a place much more appropriate for worms. Could there be more? Where in the world are these creatures coming from?  Imagine my surprise to see the better half of a worm escaping from the bottom of the refrigerator door. In a flash... the events of last night came to mind.  Upon returning from my fish-less fishing trip, the bait container with the twenty-one (21) surviving worms had been deposited for safe keeping (...and another day) in the refrigerator. When the refrigerator doors were swung open, *all* became apparent.  The lid for the bait container had opened ...just enough for the squirmy things to begin their great escape. Several worms were already heading down towards the vegetable crisper and the meat drawer (...one almost made it) ...but all of those were also scooped-up and hastily escorted to the flower garden.

It is still hours before dawn and my work had *just* begun. The bait container with what looked to be about a dozen remaining night-crawlers was quickly taken outside and ceremoniously dumped  in the garden with all of the other worms already placed there.  Just as the container was emptied it onto the ground, it dawned on me that a smarter person would have taken the time to count all of the worms to make sure that all twenty-one (21) were “present and accounted for”. Too late! Lost opportunity!  In the darkness one could see that the others had already started to scatter. Did all of them make it out of the house and into the garden?

Without that certain knowledge meant that a thorough cleaning of the inside and outside of the refrigerator (and more) was required... before the first guest arrives.  This entailed moving every movable appliance and all of the furniture in both the kitchen and the living room. Each square inch of floor and walls had to be inspected... (sometimes with the aid of a flashlight) ...just in case. Throughout this cleaning, the questions kept coming, “Should this incident be shared with my spouse as a humorous little story?” Also, “Is it better to suffer from a sin of omission or suffer from the truth being told before the guests arrive?” Would my beloved have a good laugh with me? The answers for those and other questions would have to wait! More cleaning had to be done... and quickly. Alas, the cleaning and final inspection was completed just before my beloved entered the room and poured herself a cup of coffee.  “It’s going to be a busy day, ...so much cooking and cleaning to do before the first guest arrives.”  ...If she only knew! From the moment the first guest arrived until the last one left, my eyes were nervously scanning each guests to see if any of my slimy little critters were going to introduce themselves to our guests.

MORAL OF THE STORY: ‘Tis better to leave any unused worms at the fishing hole for benefit of fish rather than risk ruining your day having to wonder if a worm is going to suddenly slither onto  a guest’s plate.  

After reading this... some may believe that 'tis nothing more than a wee bit of blarney.  More charitable folks will assume 'tis nothing more than an attempt to spin an Irish yarn ...but as St. Patrick is my witness... if only it wasn't true! 

(For obvious reasons, this story could not be told before this. One had to be absolutely certain that all twenty-one (21) worms made it out of the house and into the garden ...and so sufficient time *had* to pass.)