Tell Me I Have A Tick!

Only took three days to download these pictures. I noticed a crew at the satellite tower working last Friday. I was hoping they might be doing something that would make my Internet better ......

It doesn't seem to have helped Blogger. My lilies are popping up everywhere, along with the iris. The grass and the dandelions seem to be on steroids. I was clipping away with my garden shears Saturday, trying to keep the grass from creeping into the gardens. I was working along the edge of one bed, while thinking about where I would go next. I felt the blade on my finger and my brain registered the danger. It failed to transfer that message to my cutting hand, though. I was holding a big wad of grass and so I cut down really hard to get through it and managed to cut the tip of my finger off. No bone just the meaty part that you use to feel ......... it did not feel good.

First thing I did was look around to see if anyone was around to witness me leaping up and tossing the shears to the ground, but not the grass. I carefully placed the grass, the now bloody grass, in the weed pile before going inside to tend to my unfortunate injury. I confess that I did not look at it until I was washing away the blood. I opened the neosporin with my teeth and squeezed it on the throbbing, naked finger. Wrapped in bandaids, I went out and finished clipping around my beds. This time I did not grab the grass with my left hand, though.

I still have no mower to work with. Yesterday, He Who is loathe to push a mower, did just that and mowed the dog yard for me. It was Mother's Day, after all. I may not be his mother, but I did give birth to his children.

This is more his style. Boys do love big toys. See how wet the ground is? Muskrats boring tunnels into the side wall of the pond. He Who digs is not a trapper, although he fancies himself to be one.

He is making tall mounds of dirt as he digs. Now, if only I can convince him to move that dirt to a more usable location.

Great weather yesterday had me out in my gardens. The tipless finger is surprisingly pain free. Unless I hit the wound, then it will throb. So, I worked all afternoon, stopping from time to time for campers. One new camper came in to pay his bill. I noticed that he was looking at my hairline, couldn't seem to stop staring. I don't know him well enough to ask him what he is looking at ...... after he left I went to a mirror. Gee, I wish he had told me I had a tick in my scalp!! The moral of the story is ...... if you see a tick on a person, tell them! Even if you don't know them. The tick met his untimely death in the bathroom sink. Not before he bit me, though!