I asked my dad to pose with the timber rattlesnake he had killed. It was 1967 and I wanted to document it with my Brownie Starflash camera. In the 15 years we farmed in Madison County, Iowa, we saw many such snakes and even killed a few near the house: one by the back door, one by the front door, and one in my mother’s garden.

The first encounter, however, was a few years before, when we still relied on an outhouse. One summer morning while my father was inside he looked up as a rattlesnake stretched across the threshold to sun itself on the stone path. From the kitchen my mother heard him call, “Kathryn! Bring the hoe!”

She grabbed the broad-edged hoe she used in the garden, also the weapon of choice for killing rattlesnakes. In the meantime, our old dog Rags ambled over with lazy curiosity and sniffed the snake from head to rattles. The snake didn’t budge.

I reveled in the fear and excitement of rattlesnakes. Their movement was unnerving, and when threatened, their “dry leaf” rattle was chilling, but I wanted to understand them.

People hear my stories and say, “Rattlesnakes? In Iowa?” Once, all our neighbors had snake stories. Madison County’s limestone deposits made perfect dens while pastures and fields provided rodents and other prey.

Sadly, timber rattlers still need understanding. Agriculture and urban development have overtaken their habitats. Once there were thousands, and it seemed not to matter. Now there are precious few.