Counting cousins and killing snakes old Southern customs

OK. Here we go again. If you are going to live in the Southland, you must learn how we count kin.

Wilbur J. Cash wrote in his book, "Mind of the South," that everyone who lives in the South is kin to everyone else within a 30-mile radius.

What he said was nearer to the truth in 1939 when he wrote his book, but that was before World War II, interstate highways and Northerners' reluctance to shovel snow six months out of the year shuffled America's population. And before "Moving South" became a national obsession. But it still remains somewhat true, at least for those of us who have been in the region for all of our lives.

So, here's how you count kin:

We all know about brothers, sisters, grandparents, parents, aunts and uncles, but when it comes to cousins, it gets a little more complicated, so here's the format:

The children of siblings (brothers and/or sisters) are first cousins.

The children of the siblings' children are second cousins to each other.

The relationship of a first cousin to one of these second cousins is a first cousin, once removed.

The kinship of the first cousin to the second cousin's child is first cousin, twice removed.

Two second cousins' children are third cousins, and so on with the "removeds."

Thusly, your grandfather's first cousin is your first cousin twice removed. It really gets complicated when you get down the line to second cousins, thrice removed. But you'll eventually figure it out.

One more reminder: We don't pronounce the word "cousin" like folks from other parts of the country. To us, the word is "cud'n," as in "Cud'n George," and we always insist on adding the prefix "Cud'n" before the first name. I was speaking with a friend the other night about the subject, and he said that he was grown before he understood that his Cousin Lucy's proper given name was not "CudenLucy."

We could just solve the whole problem by adopting the practice of the venerable Charlestonian, former state senator and member of the U.S. House Arthur Ravenel Jr., who calls everyone "Cousin" or "Cud'n," as the case may be.

Hoe-down, Southern-style

You must own a garden hoe if you live in the South. It's a rule.

Hoes originally were intended for gardening and are still used for weeding and such. But the most useful task in the South for a hoe is killing snakes. And even though the tourist bureaus won't let you in on our little secret, we do have snakes! Every species of poisonous snake found in North America calls the Southland home.

When I was growing up and a snake was spotted, some mother or grandmother in the group instinctively ran for the garden hoe. They developed a rather strong Southern tradition for snake-killing, whereby the reptile was not simply cut in two but was quartered at the very least. Most of the time, the serpent was cut into tiny pieces.

So the first outside utensil a newcomer to the South needs is a hoe. For weeding, it really makes no difference what kind of hoe, but for snake-killing, the longer-handled ones are preferred.

Whenever someone kills a snake in the South, the neighborhood is always immediately informed. The time-honored question usually ensues, "Where is it?" The women ask in order that they might steer clear. The menfolk and children ask so they might "go see."

Hanging an expired snake on a fence post is not uncommon.

I was reminded of this recently when I killed a water moccasin beside the road in front of my house (with a hoe, of course). I left it for others to enjoy. It was a rather sizable reptile, and I could easily see the carcass from my front porch. About an hour later, I thought I saw it move. I watched carefully, and sure enough, it had moved a yard or more from its deathbed. I was ready to go get the hoe again when I remembered that dead snakes wiggle until sundown in the South. If you don't believe it, just ask my grandmother.

Several years ago, my sister was vacuuming her house when she spotted a snake on her living-room floor. There was no time to get the hoe. The serpent had invaded her household and action had to be taken immediately! So, she did the next best thing, she flailed at it with the upright vacuum cleaner, whereupon the snake was sucked into the bag.

I asked, "What did you do?" She had done what any knowledgeable Southern woman would have done. She had taken the upright vacuum bag into the backyard and quartered the canvas bag, and thereby the snake, with a hoe!

So if you have moved recently to the South and don't yet own a garden hoe, well, I hear Wal-Mart has a special on them this week.

John Brock is a retired professor, newspaper publisher and film producer who lives in Georgetown County. He can be reached by mail at this newspaper or via e-mail at brock@johnbrock.com.