Know Your Enemy

"The art of war is simple enough. Find out where your enemy is. Get at him as soon as you can. Strike him as hard as you can, and keep moving on."

Ulysses S. Grant (1822 - 1885)

Each year at about this time I begin my summer-long battle with ticks. They come in all sizes--from the almost microscopic larval ticks (that I have often confused with the equally obnoxious chiggers) to the thick grey slugs (about the size of a typical button) that drop from the hides of the pitifully-infested deer. I am generally a peaceable person, but I confess that I am continually striving to discover the best way to kill--or at least repel--ticks. And I am continually baffled in my endeavors.

This week, however, I have at least made a bit of progress at understanding the enemy. I finally decided to look closely at the battleground. I thought that if I could just see where ticks like to set their ambushes, I might be able to avoid them. As it happens, they do tend to be just where they are usually said to be--in grassy areas. But they don't like short grass and they don't seem to like thick blades of grass. The vast majority of the ticks I have observed so far have been at the very tops of the tiny, cylindrical seed stalks. They typically hang head-down with fore-polyps extended as widely as possible to each side of the seed-head, as in the picture above.

There is a certain evil intelligence in their behavior. If they were on the wide side of a blade of grass, their polyps wouldn't extend far enough to enable them to snag a ride on any unfortunate passer-by. And their anatomy doesn't enable them to cling to the narrow edge of a blade of grass--at least not with both fore-polyps extended for action.

I have seen a few ticks on stalks of lespedeza, but I may be guilty of having maligned that plant by considering it the primary haven for ticks and chiggers. It seems that lespedeza is a relatively innocent bystander, conscripted by those ticks that are unable to find suitable stalks of grass in their immediate environs.

Ron and Liz's Chickens

As a longtime vegetarian, I have occasionally felt a little twinge of conscience when I made an omelet. The hens that produced the eggs for my meal were probably living wretched lives. Since moving to Hand Cove, however, I have grown acquainted with quite a number of people who raise their own chickens. Indeed, in 1986 a chicken suddenly appeared on our doorstep (really camper step) and lived with us during our weekend visits to the lake. Some years after that we had a peacock stay with us for months. My brief experiences with poultry convinced me that I really didn't want any as pets. But our friends Ron and Liz really do view their chickens almost as pets. They actually raise them to sell the eggs locally, but Liz tells me that when a hen quits producing, Ron simply refuses to eat it--even though neither Ron nor Liz are vegetarians.

Anyway, we have started buying our eggs from these two friends--at least in part because their chickens seems to have rather spacious and comfortable digs, as seen above.