The Grandboys spent the night with Doots and Grunk, and we were well into the day Saturday with the boys out at the Swimming Hole, when with hardly a cloud in the sky, Sir observed, “It’s raining, Grunk!”

Sure enough, the water surface was being dimpled by raindrops.

Well, so what? you’re probably saying. We’re already in the water, it’s summertime and warm, so what’s the big deal?

Lightning is the big deal. The Brownspur Swimming Hole is proven to be one of nature’s lightning attractors, by no less than a scientist from the Naval Institute. When it clouds up, rains, or thunders at Brownspur, we empty the Swimming Hole. Therefore, I ordered all hands to bail out of the water and load into the pickup.

Once safely inside, however, another problem presented itself to Sir. The windows had been down, and after we rolled them up, a wasp-looking insect buzzed up from under the dash. Sir did not panic, but he knew his Grunk well enough to know that I am one of the first and finest wasp panickers in the world. Yet here was Grunk in a closed truck, calmly watching this critter buzzing toward me at eye level, not even sweating — obviously, something was wrong.

Well, this was a dirt dauber, a non-stinging, slow-flying insect that builds mud houses on the garage walls to lay its eggs in, which then can be broken off by Grandboys to feed the eggs to baby screech owls. Sir knew the latter, but had not been introduced at close range to the wasp-looking adult of the tribe. I pointed out the difference in flight, wing patterns, body coloration, and most of all, the obvious un-hostile expression on the bug’s face.

Probably the boy will get stung tomorrow by a real wasp, but I tried.

We went inside to wait out the rain, and Doots fixed us PBS sandwiches, which are the Brownspur version of PBJs. I use old-fashioned sorghum molasses instead of jelly.

The sun was out again after lunch, so Sir and I went to the truck to ride back to the Swimming Hole. I had parked next to the driveway cedars and as Sir pushed a branch out of the way to open the door, I saw a familiar shape under the branch and grabbed the boy’s shoulder to arrest his next step. A 2-foot-long chicken snake was lying on the ground in the branch’s shade.

“Out here, you look for snakes when you walk, Sean,” I declared, pointing out the serpent.

To give him credit, he wasn’t scared, and I showed him the snake’s small pointy head, the brown-over-black coloration, and was explaining the way a viper’s head looks, when the little snake decided class had gone on long enough and ducked back under the cedar tree.

“So, you don’t kill chicken snakes, Grunk?” was the first question as I cranked the pickup. I explained that some snakes actually are beneficial around the house and yard, although I make it a practice to eliminate poisonous snakes and large fast ones, on the theory that a large snake in close proximity can make you hurt yourself. Then the dirt dauber flew out from the dashboard again, and we started on why God made wasps, ground bumblebees, hornets, and those stinging insects atall, as well as bad snakes.

Not that I’m second-guessing the Creator; my summary was to do right, love Jesus, and say your prayers. Then swim with your Grunk regularly. Selah.

•

Robert Hitt Neill is an outdoors writer. He lives in Leland, Miss. Email him at unclebob@yahoo.com