Beatrice Hamblett Photography

Vinimis Snakes

3 min read

I drove hell bent Washington, DC to Jolo, West Virginia way far south deep in the heart of coal country. All for the purpose of photographing a Pentecostal service where handling of venomous snakes would be the featured attraction. (Vinimis snakes as it’s pronounced in the local vernacular.)

Snake handling traces its roots to the Pentecostal fervor sweeping the US in the early 20th century beginning with a traveling preacher named George Hensley. Fervent believers quote a Bible passage and interpret it literally, Mark 16:17-18, which they claim commands them to take up snakes to show their faith.

“No snake handling here today,” pastor Harvey Paine confirms with a nod and a smile. “That minister passed on.”

Instead he recommends a Pentecostal church in the village of Squire. 

“Service starts at 1:00. It’s just over the mountain—you’ll be there in no time!”

It’s twelve o’ clock now with not a minute to spare. I know the locals travel like lightening on these mountain roads so I always double the estimated arrival time.

But Pastor Paine insists. Grabbing a pencil and paper, he and his guitarist ponder the fastest route then scribble some quick directions. 

“Hmm, let’s see—follow the signs to War (the town). Take route 16—it winds over the mountain. I believe you’ll pass a car wash. Yup, then there’s an old coal mine and a bunch of houses. That’s Squire. The church is just a little further down the road.”

“Tell Pastor Randy that Harvey Paint sent you—that’s me.”

As I head for the back door I survey the congregation all starting to sway and “carry on.” A man stands in the back pew with a Rip Van Winkle beard covering his chest  and a woman next to Rip wears a cape of snowy hair tickling her waist. They all smile the welcome-to-our-church smile as the rock-a-billy music takes off. It actually sounds pretty good. I make my way to the door reluctantly.

With only 55 minutes ’til showtime, I jump into my Jeep and take off like a shot for Squire. The pastor’s directions work like a charm. As the clock strikes one I arrive at a tiny modest church with a parking lot full of pick-ups. The band is already ripping and the congregation—mostly women dressed in matronly floral shifts, their hair hidden under black headscarves—is moving to the beat. 

Preacher Randy welcomes me adding, “Takin’ pictures is okay but I can’t guarantee no snake handlin’ today. All depends on the Holy Spirit movin’ us.”

I figure I’ll take my chances and start setting up my equipment.


Vinimis Snakes

3 min read

I drove hell bent Washington, DC to Jolo, West Virginia way far south deep in the heart of coal country. All for the purpose of photographing a Pentecostal service where handling of venomous snakes would be the featured attraction. (Vinimis snakes as it’s pronounced in the local vernacular.)

Snake handling traces its roots to the Pentecostal fervor sweeping the US in the early 20th century beginning with a traveling preacher named George Hensley. Fervent believers quote a Bible passage and interpret it literally, Mark 16:17-18, which they claim commands them to take up snakes to show their faith.

“No snake handling here today,” pastor Harvey Paine confirms with a nod and a smile. “That minister passed on.”

Instead he recommends a Pentecostal church in the village of Squire. 

“Service starts at 1:00. It’s just over the mountain—you’ll be there in no time!”

It’s twelve o’ clock now with not a minute to spare. I know the locals travel like lightening on these mountain roads so I always double the estimated arrival time.

But Pastor Paine insists. Grabbing a pencil and paper, he and his guitarist ponder the fastest route then scribble some quick directions. 

“Hmm, let’s see—follow the signs to War (the town). Take route 16—it winds over the mountain. I believe you’ll pass a car wash. Yup, then there’s an old coal mine and a bunch of houses. That’s Squire. The church is just a little further down the road.”

“Tell Pastor Randy that Harvey Paint sent you—that’s me.”

As I head for the back door I survey the congregation all starting to sway and “carry on.” A man stands in the back pew with a Rip Van Winkle beard covering his chest  and a woman next to Rip wears a cape of snowy hair tickling her waist. They all smile the welcome-to-our-church smile as the rock-a-billy music takes off. It actually sounds pretty good. I make my way to the door reluctantly.

With only 55 minutes ’til showtime, I jump into my Jeep and take off like a shot for Squire. The pastor’s directions work like a charm. As the clock strikes one I arrive at a tiny modest church with a parking lot full of pick-ups. The band is already ripping and the congregation—mostly women dressed in matronly floral shifts, their hair hidden under black headscarves—is moving to the beat. 

Preacher Randy welcomes me adding, “Takin’ pictures is okay but I can’t guarantee no snake handlin’ today. All depends on the Holy Spirit movin’ us.”

I figure I’ll take my chances and start setting up my equipment.


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Categories: Almost HeavenCoal CountryWest Virginiasnake handling