There's a vintage Jeep behind the barn which, when he has time, a friend is repairing. It's also where a Meyer lemon and a Mexican lime, still in their pots, wait to be transplanted.
That's where I was standing last week, happily watering the trees and admiring the view when I realized something on the Jeep was moving. Toward me.
There's a middle part of this story, and maybe there's some shrieking and possibly some running and at least one panicked phone call, but in the end the killer anaconda I was certain I saw turned out to be this little garter snake.