We headed out of our Mississippi campground on Sunday, February 12th. We stopped in Tupelo long enough to go to Starbucks (it was the only coffee shop open, so don’t judge) so that I could work on the blog and Michael could chart our course towards Florida. The place: Blue Creek Park,outside of Windham Springs, Alabama.
Blue Creek Park is part of a big lake created by Bankhead Dam. It’s pretty, and pretty remote. No cell service. There were a few places to camp but we were the only ones here, so we had our choice. We picked a site that was way up above the lake, with a big fire ring.
We could see the lake and the spillway for the dam from our tent. It was lovely.
Michael and I made a nice fire, and then we decided to play Scrabble. (We picked up the “travel” version, where the tiles kind of lock onto the board.) We started out pretty even but in the end he annihilated me. Anyway. Maybe 10 minutes into the game, Bailey was getting a little needy so I asked him if he wanted to go to bed. He jumped up into the back of the truck. From where we were sitting, Bailey and the truck were about five feet behind us. (Elvis was asleep under the truck already.)
A little while after Bailey went into the truck, I heard him make this “boof” sound, followed by a low growl. I turned to see what was up, and he was staring intently off into the darkness. I turned my headlamp on in the direction of his stare. I didn’t see anything.
Then I heard it. Something moving on the ground, rustling through the leaves.
Now, at this point I feel the need to mention that I have a tendency to grossly over-estimate the size of an animal I hear rustling through the leaves. While admitting this is somewhat mortifying, I feel it illustrates the rest of the story well.
When we first arrived in Fayetteville and used to go running regularly at Mount Kessler, I’d freak out all the damn time. It went something like this:
me: *running through the woods, trying not to trip*
me: *hears rustling noise in leaves*
me: oh my god is that a mountain li-
me: oh. It’s a squirrel.
So – imagine me at Blue Creek Park, hearing something making its way up the hillside towards us. I was determined not to say that it was a mountain lion. They don’t live in Alabama, anyway. Now, this area we were in was actually on the edge of a steep hillside, so there was a fence that ran along it. I actually took a picture of it the next day just so I could show you what I’m talking about:
Back to the story. As the rustling noise continued, I got up and walked over towards the fence. I couldn’t see anything but something was indeed walking up that slope towards us at a steady, unhurried pace.
I waited. Watched. Then I saw something emerge through the trees. Grey, small, with the standard beady little eyes. Opossum? I stood up on a little tree stump to get a better view over the fence.
It was an armadillo. I’d never seen a live one before – just as pictures or as roadkill. So I said (to Michael), all excited – “it’s an armadillo!”
And I scared the shit out of that poor thing. It uttered a little squeak and all 4 feet left the ground as it jumped. Then it bolted – and ran headfirst into the fence.
Oops. Sorry, little armadillo.
It was a wonderful night and I slept well. I missed the tent and my sleeping bag. Monday morning, after a leisurely breakfast, I went to change clothes before we broke down the tent. I pulled off my shirt, looked down… and saw this black splotch on my torso, just below my ribcage. Closer examination showed that this splotch looked a lot like a bug, but without a head.
Without a head… because the head was buried in my skin. It was a tick!
Another one that’s a little embarrassing to admit, but I freaked out a little. When I told Michael I had a tick on me, it was all I could do to not holler at him, “get it off get it off get it OFF!” Ticks carry lyme disease and/or other nasty things. And I think they are gross.
A later internet search showed that this was a Lone Star Tick. “Lone Star are aggressive ticks and are known to move long distances in pursuit of the host.” (Source: tickinfo.com.) Not sure if I should be flattered or not.
As usual though, Michael was cool as a cucumber. He found the tweezers and pulled the tick out. There was no blood so it hadn’t even started feeding yet. When we were done and I breathed this huge sigh of relief, Michael said to me “what, you’ve never had a tick on you before?”
Baby, I’m a surburbia kid. We sure as hell didn’t have ticks in Franklin Park, Illinois.
But Michael grew up in northwest Arkansas. He said it was super common to go home after playing in the woods all day and pull off 5 or 6 ticks. NBD, in other words.
Well. At least I know to look for ticks every day now.
Comments
2 responses to “The Deep South”
fun fact, Armadillo’s instinctive reaction to being startled is to jump up and that’s why so many in Texas are road kill, because they jump up enough to hit the car instead of having it pass over them.
I can totally relate about the ticks. When Jacques and I went to Fayeteville in the summer of 2006, we went for a walk at the park down the street on Township. Later that day, I found 3 ticks on my body – I was completely grossed out. We have very few ticks in Central California, and you certainly don’t pick up ticks walking in a city park – you have to be hiking in the woods. Jacques just laughed at me!