I have a love-hate relationship with this time of year.
I love watching the grass pop out of it’s winter nap into an orgy of green. I love shedding layers of clothes (not too many after my winter of sloth).
But as Katy the wonder dog wanders in with the first tick of summer, I remember all that grows is not grass. The bug population is booming again. And as I pick the tick with a paper towel and throw it in the woodstove, the back of my neck begins to itch.