Ticked Off

  You may have read in an earlier post, titled DUCK! And Cover, that we are in the midst of the hunting season making ducks fair game.  What you didn't read about is the young man in his mid-teens who eats, sleeps, and breathes hunting...and lives under my roof.  Yes, the clamor of duck calls regularly sounds off in my dining room, accompanied by a variety of camouflage paraphernalia everywhere the eye can rest.  Duck decoys arrive in the mail and are proudly displayed throughout...well, everywhere the eye can rest.  Thankfully those decoys took the loud hint and migrated to the hunter's bedroom.

It's time to go hunting!

  This past Saturday was a decent day for hunting.  I heard floorboards creaking rather early and knew my son was biding his time til he dared disturb his father's slumber.  This period of waiting has become a stressful ritual in our home.  Upon my husband's emergence from the bedroom, he is faced with non-stop references to the current hour and minute followed by intervals of hovering during breakfast.  The subliminal message permeating our mealtime is, "Who has time to eat?!?  There's hunting to be done!"  Thank heavens maturity and consistent working with our son has led to the message being subliminal...time has softened the full-on verbal barrage.

  The time had come and my husband put us all out of our misery by asking our son to load the vehicle, which of course had been done an hour ago.  A kiss from my husband, a forehead presented by my son for me to kiss, and out the door they went.  This was the perfect opportunity for me to grab my eleven year-old boy and head to our favorite trails at the Peninsula.  Yes, the same Peninsula the duck blinds are located on.


  We'd been walking about ten minutes when my younger son pointed to the road which leads back home and announced, "Hey, there goes our van!"  Perhaps the warning bells should have been going off in my head...yet, I've learned I'm never far enough, in cases of emergency, I can't be reached.  So, on we walked...even as the dreaded awaited call came ringing in.  "Yeees?  I said, trying to be as cheery as possible."  I don't wish to bore nor scandalize you with the tirade that exploded into my ear describing how they never even made it into the duck blind.  I won't fill you in on the unflattering and rather disrespectful picture, painted of my husband, with such hostile words.  My teen, who had been chomping at the bit for this highly anticipated moment, was more than frustrated with the hope that had gone dead in the water without firing a single shot.

I admit I did feel bad for the fowl-tempered fella and quickened my pace to get home...though not so much that I would catch the initial fall-out fireworks I imagined were going off.  I even texted a couple nephews looking for a stand-in hunting partner.  I automatically assumed my husband's back was causing him such pain that he bailed and needed to rest.  Therefore, I resigned myself to the rescuer's role and began to mentally prepare to wrap in a blankey and sit in the blind if imploring texts to my nephews didn't pan out.

  With the walk finally over, we headed to the car only to be let down by a deflated rear tire.  Great...what the heck kind of day is this??  I called my husband to ask if I should drive like that.  He said he'd fill the compressor and be right down.  As I write this I'm realizing everything happens for a reason...it's a very good thing he was home or my 11 year-old and I would have had a long, uphill, chilly walk home...after our long, chilly walk we just took.  I was briefly filled-in over the phone how our teen ignored requests to find a trail leading to the blind.  Instead, he stomped right into the tall grasses determined to find a quick route there.  There was something about ticks, which alerted me to my husband's rightful concern... Presque Isle, lovely as it is, is known to have a large deer tick population.  My husband had once been bit by a deer tick, confirmed to have Lyme's disease.  He was never at ease with spending much time at Presque Isle, let alone going off trail and into dense vegetation where they'd most likely be.


Deer ticks can cause Lyme disease

  After his arrival and quick fix of the tire, I offered to drive the van home while he'd take the car to the closest gas station and check the tire's air pressure.  That offer was quickly rescinded upon hearing that three large deer ticks had already been found crawling in the van.  Sure enough, our son had walked right into a hot spot for the buggers before his frustrated Dad demand they were going home due to lack of obedience.

Eeeew!

Once home, I was surprised by the calm I walked into.  I was certain there would  be arguing and pleading for me to fulfill my impatient hunter's plans for the day.  I was impressed to see his quiet resignation as he worked side by side with my husband to rid the van of these tiny, disease carrying, blood suckers.  I was relieved yet horrified that a total of eight ticks were discovered in our family's vehicle.  I listened to my 11 year-old ask, "Dad, what is the purpose of ticks in the world?" and wondered the same thing.  We didn't come up with much of an answer...likening them to mosquitoes and other insects that seem to do more harm than good.

  Perhaps, in that instance the tick's purpose was to provide a teachable moment.  Difficult as it was, there is more patience added to my young hunter's arsenal.  He has learned to pace the floors on Saturday mornings instead of bounding onto our bed...maybe he will listen to the voice that warns him to stay on the path and understand wisdom is born of experience.



DUCK! and cover...

 

 It's a good thing I knew today opened Waterfowl Season in the Lake Erie Zone... 

  Walking glorious paths of breath-taking, fall beauty while losing myself in interior dialogue is a common occurrence these days.  "I don't know if there's a name for the color of those leaves.  It's a sort of bright orange tinged with yellow and red."  Sniiiiif...yes, inhale deeply to further ingest nature's best.  "Ahh, it's so amazingly beautiful out here.  The sky is so clear and the water is so calm.  I can't get over how peacefxx..." BAM! BAM! BAM!

 "Good one!," I think as I lower my right knee, unclasp my heart, slowly unscrunch my eyes, and relax my lips to cover bared teeth.  I don't think I would fool any human or duck into believing I meant to strike that pose.  Might as well continue walking and remind myself to just look straight ahead as cheeks flame and heart tries to find it's way back to a normal rhythm.

  My husband and sons are hunters.  I knew it was bound to happen.  But that staccato of reports sounding off to my right caught me off guard and scared me as readily as a good glaucoma test.    Sounds weird I know, but to endure the optical exam's blast of forced air, though some call it a tiny puff,  prompts self imposed strong arm tactics.  I have to force my forehead against the headrest while every inch of my face is crumpled and eyes are narrowed to the tiniest of slits.  The expectation of what's coming is clearly worse than the actual outcome.  I know this is a personal quirk that delights some family members and irritates others to no end.  C'mon, doesn't everyone get freaked out by the suspense that builds while waiting on the *pop* caused by placing a spoon to the crease of a can of crescent rolls?  I've finally given up on bullying myself to do it with arms outstretched, hands wrapped in oven mitts, and face turned away as far as possible.  Now, I just pretend I need help with dinner and call my kids in to do the task.  I'm astounded at their bravery!

 For future walks, I suppose I should practice not flinching.  I'll be sharing the Peninsula with 73 lucky duck hunters who won first chance to stake their blinds for the next couple months.  I concede I could eliminate post traumatic stress by January if I chose to walk in a less unnerving location...but I'd just as soon face a plethora of eye-puffs before I'd give up Presque Isle in all it's seasonal glory! 

Rinng Riiiing Riiiiing....Pillsbury called...they suggested I try Wintergreen Gorge.