They’re here

Some folks believe the universe communicates through signs and symbols, offering guidance and navigation through life’s many trials and tribulations. Perhaps, I saw, or should I say, heard, these signs when the song “Ticks,” by Brad Paisley, came across the radio, and the rhythmic “ticking” of the battery-operated clock hanging above my favorite chair at home seemed a titch louder.  

These signs foreshadowed what was to come, manifesting into reality while driving home from a family get-together at my parent’s house. While curled up in the back seat of my truck, the kids pulled the first wood tick of the season off our family dog after she’d fallen asleep, tired from running through the tall grasses behind my dad’s garage, signaling that the annual awakening of a spring tradition was here–tick season.

Just as we begin to emerge from our winter hibernation—wearing shorts in 40-degree weather and firing up the grill with enthusiastic optimism—another creature springs, or should I say, crawls to life–the tick.  

Ticks are nature’s way of reminding us that the joy of getting outside, breathing in fresh air while walking through the woods, comes with a catch.

Just as the Twins have their opening day, so do wood ticks. Ticks don’t have the pomp and circumstance of a fireworks show or signing “Take Me Out to the Ballgame,” they’re more accustomed to stealth, lurking in the shadows of the tall grass, sticking like Velcro to your clothing, or worst of all, your four-legged friend’s thick fur coat. 

After spending the winter tucked away like the tiny patient parasites they are, they awaken with one goal in mind: finding nourishment.

Pets become primary targets. Dogs, ecstatic to run through the woods on a warm spring day, return proudly, not just carrying a coat full of mud, but also a few freeloading hitchhikers.

At least mosquitoes have the decency to buzz in your ear and tease their presence so you can take a swat. Ticks, on the other hand, operate with stealth. They don’t fly; they don’t jump—they simply wait for an unsuspecting host to walk by. 

Perched on blades of grass or low hanging branches, they extend their tiny legs in a maneuver known as “questing,” which is really just a softer term for ambush. They lift their front legs and spread them wide, raised towards the sky in an ongoing ritual to appease whatever gods of nature they serve. When their prayers are answered, and a potential food source walks by, they latch on. 

If you have small children and pets–it’s time to begin the full-body tick check. Nothing brings families together quite like inspecting each other’s scalp with the intensity of a forensic investigation.

Perhaps, it’s not the ticks themselves that cause the most havoc–it’s the psychological mind-game that emerges. You spot a crumb on the floor and wonder if it might be a tick. You feel a light tingle on your leg and check to see if something is crawling, only to realize it was just an itch. Still, it doesn’t hurt to check behind your ears, just in case.