Not Your Typical Mother's Day Tribute

I often visit the green burial area where we placed my mom after she passed away. It’s an incredibly peaceful spot, filled with endemic plants she taught us about when I was a kid. Some of her favourites, like camas flowers (Camassia quamash) and shooting stars (Dodecatheon hendersonii), grow beneath the Garry oak trees (Quercus garryana), which seem to be thriving rather quickly. The dark humour in me can’t help but laugh: clearly, the nutrient-rich residents are helping them along.

More than the flora, I find comfort in how private this place feels. Rarely is anyone else around when I visit. It’s quiet. It gives me space to reflect on life, my Mom, and sometimes some laugh-out-loud memories thanks to her influence.

Regular visitor from 2024.

On Mother's day, I picked up a chai latte (something my Mom and I often enjoyed together), and I sat in my now usual place. I listened to the late day songs of the Robins as the sun began to set, and I watched the squirrels rustle around through the gardens. I like being still enough to melt away into the backdrop so that I'm ignored by everything. Even the deer that come passing through, taking full advantage of the tastier flowers such as tulips that mourners place throughout the park, especially on days like today.

And then, something swinging from a tree caught my eye. I squinted, blinked, and promptly spit out my tea in laughter. The squirrels ran up the trees for protection and the birds all flew away in shock that I was there.

In the tree right in front of me, hanging from a branch, was a snake skin. Not a local garter snake, either (there are four endemic snake species on Vancouver Island, none of which are much longer than 1.2 metres). No, this was a much larger, exotic species; several metres long and substantially girthier. Definitely not native. And not the first time I’d seen such a thing in this tree, either. This was the third time a snake skin had appeared in that same tree, but the first time it showed up on Mother’s Day. How appropriate!

Curiosity got the better of me the first time (typically later into the summer). I’d wandered by the carved stones placed around the burial area, reading names and recognizing many, including scientists, academics, and conservationists, whom I recognized from the University of Victoria and community ecology projects. I imagined one of them being the original snake owner. Given the size and scale pattern, I suspect it was a boa (more common as pets than pythons). Whoever owns the snake now seems to return the shedded skin each year, placing it symbolically in the tree.

Why do I laugh? Why do I know about snake skins? Because of my Mom as a long-time instructor at Camosun College; back when the biology department had an animal collection and she was the chair of the animal care committee. During holidays, or when she was travelling around the province giving animal presentations to schools, those creatures came home with us for extended stays. Lizards, tortoises, tarantulas, scorpions, mice, hamsters, and of course… snakes. I handled them all (ok, maybe not the Arachnids; I had a paralyzing fear of these for a long time). We built mazes and organized races, and I became very confident in my snake-handling skills. So much so that when my Mom later brought the animals to my class, I was showing off with a Boa constrictor. This resulted in four puncture wounds in my arm, which taught me great respect; especially for the bigger snakes.

Violet and I (around age 6) watchingTV.

But Violet, the Ball python, was always my favourite. I'd wrap her around my neck while I watched TV, much to the horror of my Nana (my Mom’s Mom). I vividly remember the phone call AFTER Violet remerged following several days of being MIA in the house when my Mom admitted that she had been missing. My Nana was the definition of verklempt: so horrified that she was lost for words (a rarity when she was not amused). There was mostly scoffing, gasping and huffing until the words caught up, which were later described by my Mom as “spitting venom” (funny, but not fitting, as Violet wasn’t venomous). While my Nana's housekeeping was spotless. Our house…less so. More of a zoo, really; especially in that moment. And while there were frequent, albeit brief, breaches in animal containment, no one was ever eaten. At least, not until I was old enough to understand what the mice were actually for. Regardless, it is safe to say that Nana did not think it was appropriate for these animals to be in our home. Had she known my brother and I were in the house with a snake on the loose, she would have immediately taken us away (probably why my Mom didn't tell her until afterwards).

These moments gave me a unique perspective on life. While I've had a broad assortment of creatures in my life over the years, I don't intend to have a snake anytime soon (never may be a better word, but I know better, as you just never know). However, I’m oddly comforted knowing someone out there is still hanging snake skins in trees in memory of their own loved one. If I did have a snake, I would certainly bring its shedded skin as an ode to my Mom. Although, I can still hear my Nana's voice as clear as though it was yesterday.

Either way, I laugh. On Mother’s Day, when I'm missing my Mom terribly, I’m especially thankful for those moments that make me laugh.