Chapter 6: The Snake Business

There were so many fat backyard snakes, we could never finish them all.

Baskets overflowed, snakes twisting and curling, their bodies piling up by the old tractor. Our freezer was full, and the kitchen counters were lined with jars of pickled snake meat. Even the neighbor kids stopped by to gawk, poking at the glass with grubby fingers.

Like she’d planned it all along, my mom brought out a sign from the house: Snakes for Sale—Fat, Fresh, and Cheap. A snake cost less than a sandwich.

She hammered the sign into the front yard, right next to the faded mailbox. Folks started lining up, coins jingling in their pockets. “Two bucks a snake! Fresh as they come!” she hollered, waving her hands to draw a crowd. The sign was scrawled in black marker on a scrap of plywood.

Meat was scarce back then. No matter what kind, people were desperate for a bite, and there was a steady stream of folks coming by to buy snakes.

Even the mayor’s secretary came by after work, muttering about feeding her family. Old Mrs. Jenkins from next door, who claimed she hated snakes, bought three and winked at me. The street was busier than it had ever been—cars lined up down the block, folks gossiping as they waited their turn.

Some wondered out loud: with my mom selling so cheap, wasn’t she losing money?

They whispered, suspicious—“She’s gotta be making a loss, right? Nobody just gives away meat like that.” Some folks started asking questions—too many snakes, too cheap. But Mom just flashed her best Sunday smile.

She just smiled mysteriously, saying, “For neighbors, losing a little money is nothing.”

Her words sounded generous, but there was something sly in her eyes. She handed out extra portions to the right people, making sure her favorites got first pick. It was a show—one she played to perfection.

But I knew the truth: for her, this was a business with no cost. What was there to lose?

I watched her count the cash at night, stacking bills with greedy fingers. The meat kept coming, and the money piled up. For the first time in years, we weren’t just surviving—we were almost thriving.