A mild winter has meant the tick season will be a brutal one here in Connecticut. But I was not prepared for it this soon.
I was in the yard and on the back hill at the very end of March on a cold day, removing the mesh tree trunk wraps that keep deer from scraping the bark off saplings.
I had a parka on, and long sleeves and jeans tucked into boots. Yes, a parka -- it was cold out. It was March 30, for heaven's sake, a winter date here, even though the calendar has turned to spring. There is still snow the ground.
The next morning I found an embedded tick on me, filled with blood. I got it out with tweezers and I'll watch for any reaction. In 2008 I had a terrible bout with Lyme Disease with searing joint pain, a fever, and paralysis on one side of my face. It was truly awful, but I am cured.
I've been dealing with tick season each year and I know what to look for and how to avoid them, and what to do. But this was too early for my guard to be up.
A deer tick. Ick. Add another item to the list of "reasons I want to move out west".
And mud. Put mud on the list too.