One lovely afternoon many years ago, Pete and I were enjoying an outing to the slough at the mouth of the Salinas River, in central California. The trail was somewhat overgrown, and we were pushing through tall weeds looking for birds and other wildlife, when I suddenly realized there was a large, red tick crawling up his shirt.
Knowing that ticks are arachnids (fascinating creatures that nonetheless give me the willies), and having heard about all the diseases they carry, I calmly alerted shrieked at my husband and started flailing at his back. As that tick was dislodged, I noticed another one on his thigh… and another, and another… when I suddenly realized that if he was covered with ticks, then I was probably covered with ticks….






Last week we had nine hens. Six were young, prolific layers less than a year old. Three were old biddies past their prime. I’d been meaning to cull the three unproductive hens for a long time, but just couldn’t bring myself to actually follow through. Then I went to the feed store yet again, and realized that we were supporting three hens that were eating one third of my feed bill. That sealed their fate. So earlier this week I humanely dispatched three hens in their sleep and fed the local wildlife. I guess the local wildlife enjoyed the feast, because…