Flashes of Panic

50 minutes in the Quabbin = 5 ticks (one on me, 4 on A, probably because I was riding and she was running.)

I am not one to whine about the weather; I live here because I like it, and if it’s unpleasant sometimes, that just means I don’t have to deal with a few million others who want to live here too.

But the dark and wet May we had is still kicking us in the shins. The “red tide” that has shut down shellfishing around the state (and, presumably, elsewhere in New England, though you’d never know reading our papers) is a direct consequence of low sunlight and cool temperatures in May; that’s what brought on the algal bloom. And you can’t venture ten steps into the woods without first drenching yourself in Deet, because there was (is) plenty of standing water for insect breeding. The hum of mosquitoes was audible whenever I stopped to snap a picture: not the whine of a single insect, but a background hum of millions of the little things.

I blame the humidity on May, too.

I just hope there’s some insectivorous upside. Ooh, maybe Iz will get another bat.

Update: The sixth tick was found on A’s running shoe this morning. The problem with the ticks is that once you find one or two, every itch or tickle feels like another one. I was feeling phantom ticks all night.