A few weeks ago, I was in my backyard trying to get my old, rusty lawnmower to work. It seems to only work when I want it to and when it is rusty. I will always remember what happened. It was one of those moments that happens out of the blue while you’re doing something boring and stays with you long after the lawn has been mowed and the sun has set. Something happened that I will remember for a long time. It’s the kind of moment that sneaks up on you when you’re doing something mundane and sticks with you long after you’ve mowed the lawn and the sun has gone down.
It was one of those hot, sticky summer afternoons when everything seemed to go slowly. It was so hot outside that it felt like I was trying to breathe through a sponge. I had been putting off mowing the grass for too long, so the yard was full of weeds, dry spots that made noise when you walked on them, and blades that were way too tall and waving in the breeze like they were making fun of me.
Mochi, my golden retriever, was sleeping down in his usual spot by the gate, under the big oak tree. His tongue was hanging out, his belly was to the wind, and he was completely pleased in his shady world. He looked like a postcard of summer happiness. At the same time, I was sweating a lot and pushing a lawnmower that made strange noises every few steps, like it was about to die right there on the crabgrass.
I was halfway across the yard, not paying attention, and in a “just get it over with” mood when I felt something crawl up my ankle. You know that feeling, like a slow, intentional tickle that makes all your nerves stand on end. I thought it was a bug. Since I started mowing, I had already killed five or six. I looked down, annoyed, thinking I would see a small bump I knew.
But it wasn’t a bug.
There was a tick. A lone star tick, not just any tick. It was there, with its little legs clinging onto my ankle, and the white dot on its back that looked like a bullseye was staring right at me. My heart fell. A surge of panic hit me as I stood still, and I could feel every inch of my skin. I cautiously bent down so I wouldn’t squish it, and then I delicately took it off with a tissue I had in my pocket. I put it in an empty snack bag I had packed for Mochi’s treats, shut it up, and stood there for a minute to collect my breath.
I knew enough about ticks that I couldn’t just let them go. People think that the lone star tick is creepy. It has to do with alpha-gal syndrome, which is when your immune system suddenly targets red meat. That’s right: you could never be able to eat meat, bacon, or burgers again if you consume one. At first, I thought it was just one of those crazy online things, but it’s true. People can have really significant allergic reactions, and the symptoms can start hours after they eat. I felt a short chill of apprehension since I like my ribeye medium-rare.
I went straight to the restroom when I got home. I cleansed the bite with soap and warm water, put antiseptic on it, and then stood in front of the mirror for way too long, looking for additional bugs on my legs, arms, and waist. Mochi also had a full check-up. He thought it was a game, so he rolled over for belly rubs and thumped his tail as I cleaned his fur with a fine-toothed brush.
There was a lot of stress throughout the next several days. I kept an eye on the bite by taking images of it with my phone. I used Google too much. I didn’t eat red meat “just in case,” and I was worried about every little movement in my tummy. Even though I didn’t feel any pain and the bite didn’t get bigger, it stayed in my memory. I didn’t expect to feel so anxious at the thought that something small and seemingly harmless might have such a big effect. But it also made me take things more seriously. I didn’t think I would be so scared by the idea that something so small and sneaky could have such a big impact.
But it also made me pay attention to what I was doing. I learned that I hadn’t been as careful outside as I thought I had been. I always imagined that ticks were more of a problem for those who stroll or camp than for folks who mow the grass. But lone star ticks don’t care. They don’t wait until you’re deep in the woods. They do nicely in shady places, dense grass, and piles of leaves. And each year they move to more states.
That means I made some changes. I bought tick spray, and now I spray my shoes, socks, and the bottoms of my jeans before I walk outside. I wear long pants all the time, even when it’s hot. When I go through thick grass, I tuck them into my socks. I roll a lint roller over my clothes near the rear door before I go inside. I check on Mochi every time we leave, even if it’s just for a few minutes. It’s worth it to spend money for peace of mind.
What started out as a routine summer chore evolved into a wake-up call. It made me think about how simple it is to forget about our regular lives and how important it is to be alert, even in our own backyards. I will still mow the yard and Mochi will still nap under the oak tree. However, I now do these things with more care, understanding, and respect for the things we can’t see in our surroundings. The tiniest things can sometimes be the most harmful.
Since then, I haven’t eaten any red meat. Not because I can’t, but because I’m still watching, waiting, and learning what my body might tell me next.
