Following an intensely satisfying walk along the Beech Hill trails today, I hopped into my pickup and noticed a couple small mud spatters on the front of my jeans. I flicked at them with my fingers, but they didn’t smudge or vanish or change in any way. So I plucked at them—and still they didn’t come off.
That’s when I realized they were ticks.
Ordinarily—during spring and summer and fall—I would’ve identified them at once. But all winter I’ve been traipsing willy-nilly up and down the hill, mindless of any chance that I might pick up ticks at this season. Well, I did. I hopped back out of the truck, in fact, inspected my pants legs closely, and found three or four more ticks there. Small dog ticks, perhaps, but just as likely deer ticks, the ones that carry Lyme Disease. (I didn’t inspect them closely, but there are plenty on Beech Hill—and a good half of them carry the disease.)
So I figured I should make mention of this. A sort of cautionary note to confirm that these unseasonably warm last few weeks have awakened a summer complaint.