When I was a child spending part of the summer with my Grandma Wulff in Livingstone, my brother and cousins organized a “snipe” hunt. I didn’t know what a snipe was and they made it sound like some mythical beast that roamed the almond orchard at night. Only at night, mind you, only leaving some big scary footprints for daylight. Was I up to the challenge of a snipe hunt with them? The usual come-on-don’t-be-a-chicken taunts started and what’s a girl to do? I said sure.
Wandering through twenty acres of almond trees in the moonlight, calling out for “Snipe, snipe…” was a test of courage. I wasn’t sure I had any. What if I found a snipe? Should I just take a look and run? Or was I supposed to try and catch the beast? That got my young ticker racing. I was the youngest and smallest of the three hunters.
I heard my brother’s voice. “Here, Snipe.” Then my cousin. “Here, Snipe.” I wanted to tell them to be quiet before a snipe heard them, but I’d have to raise my voice and if I did the snipe might come for me. I was beginning to wish I’d never agreed to this nighttime nightmare hunt. “Here, Snipe,” I whispered, hoping a snipe wouldn’t hear me. Hoping they would catch one and I could see what the beastly thing looked like. BIG, they said. Really BIG and UGLY.
Someone shrieked. Was that my brother? The hair rose on the back of my neck. I looked this way and that way. Another shriek. My cousin? Had the snipe gotten them both? More shrieking, then a piercing scream. Was that my brother or cousin? Or was it me?
I tore through the orchard at Olympic pace and flew through the screen door of Grandma’s cottage. Panting, heart pounding, I jabbed my finger toward the orchard. Grandma rolled her eyes. “Did they take you on a snipe hunt?” I nodded, still breathless, heart pounding, sure my brother and cousin were being devoured at that very moment while Grandma, calm as a cucumber, went on knitting. “There’s no such thing as a snipe.” About that time, I heard my brother and cousin’s laughter.
Lessons learned:
Don’t believe everything you’ve been told – even by family members.
Fear often comes out of ignorance.
Learn to laugh at yourself.