Don's Blog Joe Sheds 7-8-25

At the Lake House we have a large black snake (Pantheropthis alleghaniensis) named Joe. If you have followed this blog for some time you have seen images of Joe  including some showing him going slowly into his hole under the front porch. Joe's other common names are black rat snake, central rat snake, chicken snake, midland rat snake, and pilot rat snake. Joe is a  scent-hunter and a powerful constrictor. He feeds primarily on small mammals, birds, and bird eggs. When startled Joe  stops and remains motionless with his body held in a series of wave-like kinks. Joe will also rattle his tail against whatever he is lying on, making an audible buzzing sound which is intended to fool a potential threat into thinking that they've encountered a rattlesnake. Joe will defend himself by raising his head and bluffing a strike. If handled, Joe will musk a victim by releasing the foul-smelling contents of his cloaca, and will bite if necessary. We give him a wide birth but a wound from Joe's bite is reported to rarely require more than a small bandage. Yet he is wondrous.

This weekend my son Gordon found Joe's newly shedded skin.

There was a break in the middle attached to a low branch where he wiggled out of the skin. When put back together Joe's skin shed  measured 6 feet 4 inches. Joe is a big snake.

Joe sheds his skin, a process called ecdysis, to allow for growth. Its hard to believe that Joe is still growing. This process involves  developing a new skin layer underneath the old one.  Fluid builds up between the layers to help loosen the old skin. Then he rubs himself against a rough surface like the low hanging branch to crawl out of it. The old skin is discarded as a snake shaped shell. Joe can shed his skin several times a year but usually once. Theoretically Joe can keep down the mouse population. Unfortunately he does not eat the moles which are sometimes more than pesky.

The Black Snake

When the black snake
flashed onto the morning road,
and the truck could not swerve–
death, that is how it happens.

Now he lies looped and useless
as an old bicycle tire.
I stop the car
and carry him into the bushes.

He is as cool and gleaming
as a braided whip, he is as beautiful and quiet
as a dead brother.
I leave him under the leaves

and drive on, thinking
about death: its suddenness,
its terrible weight,
its certain coming. Yet under

reason burns a brighter fire, which the bones
have always preferred.
It is the story of endless good fortune.
It says to oblivion: not me!

It is the light at the center of every cell.
It is what sent the snake coiling and flowing forward
happily all spring through the green leaves before
he came to the road.

Mary Oliver