Posted on by kimhaynesjohnson

12 Bucks for a Cottonmouth

The words of a dying man are treasures.

Dad shared stories in his final days – time he spent with Henry Aaron, his father’s time with Shoeless Joe Jackson and the baseballs we must keep….our weird family, and what to do with the Roseville china, sponsoring love life through crawfish, and selling Cottonmouths for twelve bucks…….all these things that express the flavor and quirkiness of our family. I’m glad we captured these stories on audio so that we can revisit them as we go through the process of grieving our loss of Dad. These moments of the most random conversations filled with memories are priceless to me, no matter how scattered they may seem to others. I’ve used the chain Haiku form here in the poem I’m sharing today, using Dad’s exact words in these lines.

Twelve Bucks for a Cottonmouth

my brother is a

freebie baby, a clearance

kid of great value

our weird family

snake blood in our DNA

swamp genes in our veins

serendipitous

steering currents bring surprise

unexpected guests

prayer conversations

important time together

letting kids climb trees

these things that happen

hodgepodge of mismatchery

eclectic, unique

Okefenokee

twelve bucks for a cottonmouth

Wings Service Station

I sponsored my love

life selling crawfish, Dad said

(priceless audio)

18 Replies to “12 Bucks for a Cottonmouth”

  2. Kim,

    Your characterization of the stories your dad told and you recorded reminds me of my favorite Faulkner passage, which is from Absalom, Absalom! “We have a few old mouth-to-mouth tales, we exhume from old trunks and boxes and drawers letters without salutation or signature, in which men and women who once lived and breathed are now merely initials or nicknames out of some now incomprehensible affection which sound to us like Sanskrit or Chocktaw; we see dimly people, the people in whose living blood and seed we ourselves lay dormant and waiting, in this shadowy attenuation of time possessing now heroic proportions, performing their acts of simple passion and simple violence, impervious to time and inexplicable -” I think of that passage often when contemplating memory and the fragmented ways stories come together to make a life.

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    1. Glenda, Faulkner could sure capture a compelling thought in a complete sentence with plenty of clauses! I love this thinking – – and that you think of the way the stories come together to make a life. That’s pretty deep, and I love the complexity of it all. I’ll be processing for a while, and I have moments of deep sadness. Today I had to take Ollie for a dental cleaning, and while I was waiting for them to bring him to me, a lady sitting on the other side of the waiting room asked me if I was okay. I said yes, and she asked if I was sure. I realized then that this is written all over my face. And while at first I was annoyed, as I drove off and reflected on it, I was deeply grateful for her asking. That was brave of her and not many would do that. I am torn about going back to work so soon – – part of me thinks it will be the best thing for me. The other part isn’t so sure.

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      1. Kim,
        You must be exhausted from all the sorting and cleaning. That exhaustion might overwhelm you if you go back to work too soon. Every person grieves differently. I only had the day of my dad’s funeral (a Tuesday) off from school when he died, which was the previous Saturday. I had no time to grieve. Maybe talk to Briar and let him decide for you since he’s w/ you every day and can help you think through this logically. Of course, I’m here if you want to talk.

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  3. Kim, your memories will always stand out in your family. This is the 2nd audio I’ve listened to and it is a wonderful way to preserve your Dad’s thoughts while in the grieving stage of life. Thanks for sharing these moments with readers.

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    1. Thank you, Carol. I think it has been helpful for me to just go back and listen to the words and to know that even though he is no longer here, I can still hear his voice and keep this much of him alive.

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  5. Kim, I’m so glad you are able to listen to your father’s words and stories. Your haiku chain is a wonderful tribute to him. I love the cottonmouth part and wonder if you’ve ever read a book called Ironhead. Let me know. It’s a story set in the Florida everglades, and a young boy has lost his mother. His father is in a deep depression, and he hunts snakes to make money.

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    1. I have not read that book but it sounds like something I would devour. I will check it out – – I believe I have an Audible credit and am hoping to be able to get back into reading a full book soon. So far, my mind cannot stay focused very well when I sit down to read (and I fall asleep from exhaustion when I get still), but I need to have a book escape.

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  6. There Felix goes again – staying with you – keeping you close! My favorite line is: hodgepodge of mismatchery – describes my life to a tea/T?! Are cottonmouths poisonous? I would not be able to survive the Okefenokees! Glad you recorded all of your dad wonderments!

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    1. Yes, they are one of the venomous snakes of Georgia, along with the Eastern Diamondback, Timber (Canebrake) Rattler, Pygmy Rattler, Coral Snake, and Copperhead. They are also called Water Moccasins, but the way their mouths are all white when they tilt their head back and open their mouths is what earned them their nickname Cottonmouths. They are mean looking, too!!

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  7. Kim, I am VERY glad you pressed record. Your stories have inspired my thinking as well as my own writing both for this blog and another book I’ve long struggled to finish. Thank you

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    1. Anita, I’m so glad you are inspired, and I appreciate those comments so much – – that brings me joy that you are finding the finish line of a book and writing to preserve your stories. Thank you!

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  8. Wonderful! So precious, to have the recording. I really Ike your process creating that unique and expressive poem. My favorite lines are ‘a clearance kid of great value’ and ‘steering currents bring surprise.’ AND ‘I sponsored my love I’ve selling crawfish’! Credit to your Dad’s gift with language. Sympathies as you navigate grief.

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