The trees come right up to our back deck, crowding in like old friends who don’t know when to leave. Out here in the Ozarks, you don’t just live among the trees—you live at their mercy. And along with them come the quieter, less welcome companions: ticks, chiggers, and mosquitoes, making their yearly pilgrimage as soon as the air turns heavy with spring.
It’s the price you pay for a life this beautiful. And honestly, it’s worth every itch.
Yesterday, after Sunday church and a quick handshake line at the door, I headed home with a plan: mow the yard before my Sunday afternoon nap. That’s the rhythm of life out here—worship first, then work, then rest. Spring rains have been generous this year, and when the sun peeks through, it feels like July is already breathing down our necks.
Now, “mowing” in the Ozarks is a charitable word for what I actually do. It’s less a matter of cutting grass and more a matter of dodging rocks. Every winter, the earth spits up new stones, as if reminding us that these hills are older and tougher than we are. I nurse an aging lawnmower through another season, rattling it between the trees like a doctor trying to revive an old patient he just can’t bear to lose.
And between those trees, the ticks lie in wait.
They’re sly little things. Ticks don’t fall from the sky like some folks will tell you. No, they climb the tallest stem of grass they can find, stretch out their tiny legs, and wait. Every blade of grass becomes a bus stop for the next warm body that happens by. And if you think you’re too fast or too careful, think again—they’re patient. More patient than you.
I’ve learned the hard way: tick checks aren’t optional. They’re survival. Around here, we know too many who’ve been knocked flat by Alpha-Gal Syndrome, an odd-sounding name for a mean fate—one tick bite and suddenly your body sees a hamburger as an enemy. I’m not ready to trade my summer steak on the grill for a plate of tofu, thank you very much.
But the trouble with ticks is their humility. They come so small, some are no bigger than the period at the end of this sentence. You can search and search, and still miss one tucked behind an ear or hiding under a patch of hair. You do your best. And you pray. And sometimes you rely on the kindness of a spouse willing to perform a tick inspection with the seriousness of a heart surgeon. (On a good day.)
Last night, just as sleep was wrapping its arms around me, I brushed my side and felt it—a tiny, traitorous bump. A tick, already dug in, already making plans.
There’s a careful way to remove a tick, or so I’m told—steady tweezers, antiseptic, patience. But at that hour, with half a mind and a full dose of aggravation, I used the old-fashioned Ozark method: thumb and fingernail, a swift yank, and a quick burial at sea via the bathroom toilet.
I’ve probably been the unwilling host to every tick species in the hills—Lone Star, American Dog, and Deer ticks alike. It’s a strange badge of honor, the kind you don’t sew onto your jacket but wear in your soul. Life out here brands you quietly, in scratches and scars and tiny battles won at twilight.
The truth is, the ticks and the chiggers and the mosquitoes—they’re just the minor villains in a much bigger story. Living in the Ozarks means waking up under a quilt of mist, hearing whippoorwills call through the trees, watching the evening light slant through the pines like a benediction. It means enduring a few battles with bugs so you can stand on your back deck at dusk and feel the earth breathe.
It’s worth it. Every bite, every itch, every muttered word as you pluck another hitchhiker from your skin—it’s all part of the price. And compared to what you gain, it’s a bargain.
Because here, in this rough and wild country, life feels closer to the bone. The days are simple, the neighbors are kind, and the trees stand watch like faithful sentinels over a world that’s mostly forgotten how to be still.
Ticks, chiggers, and mosquitoes…oh my.
But the view?
The life?
The people?
Oh, my, indeed.
To learn more about my Ozark writings click here.
Recommended Resource: If you’re studying the Psalms, you won’t want to miss my in-depth review of The Treasury of David by Charles Spurgeon. This timeless masterpiece unpacks the Psalms with rich theological insight, making it essential for devotion, sermon prep, or deep Bible study. Read the full review here.
Enjoying this content? If you’d like to support my work and help me create more Bible-centered resources like this devotion, consider buying me a coffee! Your support means the world and helps keep this ministry going.
