Living as we do in a house full of imaginative kids, life stays on the exciting end of the spectrum.  Sometimes the indicator needle even pegs over to the "wild" mark.

All of the wild life around here is not solely due to the kids, however.  Some of the wildlife is indigenous.  Usually, though it's the kids who bring it home.

Like Matt's snake.

Matt jogs, bikes or hikes nearly every day.  Depending on his mood, he may jog or bike down the hill and cover five or six miles along the roads in the Rock Creek area; or he may head up the hill and bike and hike up the mountain.  He's not in training for anything, but likes the outings and being physically fit.  He competes only with himself.

A small reservoir is situated two or three miles from our home right on top of the wooded ridge behind our house.  One of Matt's exercises is to ride his bike just as far up the steep, rocky road to the reservoir as he can.  When his biking muscles are tired and can carry him no farther, he jumps off the bike and runs the rest of the distance.  A cool, refreshing swim in the pond is one reward for his efforts.

Another reward is the kinship he feels with nature and "his" mountains.  He enjoys the forest and the air, the birds and the animals.  Because of the time he spends in the woods, he is sometimes privileged to see special things.

One day as Matt was hiking along the edge of our upper fields where they join the woods, he happened to notice an odd, brown stick on the ground.  On closer inspection the stick turned out to be a lethargic, brown snake.  But it was not like any snake he'd ever seen before.  It was as big around as his thumb, a foot-and-a-half long, and eyeless!  It simply lay there, showing no inclination to move.

Matt ran the mile home and got a lidded bucket in which to capture the creature and have it identified.  The strange-looking snake obediently waited and was shortly scooped into the bucket.

The snake created quite a sensation at home.  The bucket was placed on the hearth, and the entire family took turns staring into it and commenting.  No one had ever seen anything like it.  Consulting a book on reptiles, it was learned that the creature was a "worm snake" or a "blind snake" which inhabits a small area of the American Southwest.  It was, indeed, eyeless, because it lives underground and only rarely comes to the surface.

What was the snake doing here in the Pacific Northwest?  Had it and its kind been here all along?  How could the Kerns family have lived on the same place for 55 years and never seen one?

The snake simply lay at the bottom of the bucket and never moved.  It was evening, so Matt replaced the lid.  Tomorrow he would take the snake to town to have it officially identified.

The family got ready for bed, and, one by one, disappeared into their rooms.  Each took one last peek at the visitor before retiring.  The last to do so was Amy.  Always the compassionate one where living creatures are concerned, she worried that the snake might not have enough oxygen during the night, so she left the lid open a crack.

Next morning the first person up went straight to the bucket.  He lifted the lid to check the snake—and the bucket was empty!  A hue and cry went up which turned everyone out.  A snake was loose in the house!

There were shudders and nervous giggles all around as a search was started.  Every piece of living room furniture was moved and searched under.  Every corner and hiding place was scrutinized.  The search expanded to other rooms.  But all the efforts were in vain.

The snake was never located.  The search was called off.  Perhaps we'd find the snake by smell after it died.  Or perhaps we would be like the family who occupied the apartment with the lumpy couch, and who would find things knocked over in the mornings.  After a year of such mysterious happenings they discovered a 6-foot boa constrictor residing in their couch.

We theorized that our snake crawled out of the bucket, and, being blind anyway, relied on its other senses to guide it.  Being just six feet from an outside door, it sensed the fresh air coming under the door, flattened itself out, and slithered under the door to safety and freedom.

That, at least, was our theory.  We've never been able to prove it wrong; but theories being what they are, everyone squeamishly watched where he or she was stepping, sitting and lying for the next few weeks.  Amy's compassionate act of cracking the bucket lid open was only appreciated by the snake.