Minnesota, Land of 10,000 ticks

Colin and I have begun our grand farewell tour with a five hour drive up to Fosston, MN. Fosston is an hour West of Bemidji on Highway 2 and my dad's place is tucked back on a gravel road that is unknown to our GPS. The trees run high and the grass shines a bright green as we drive up the hill where my dad's house rests. Behind the house alfalfa and winter wheat line the hills. It's heaven up here. A few year's back I gave my dad a "hermit permit" to allow him the freedom to be a grouchy old man, a freedom he enjoys with great solitude. (as I write this another sales call comes in to his home office, so the illusion of a great quite life vanishes, for a moment).

Last night, in a moment of complete city-dweller naïveté, I suggested a walk through one of his many trails. We quite about 5 minutes in when we realized that the bugs were out (as they often are at sundown) and that the ticks were out in full force. We must have picked off at least 50 ticks. We found some even still this morning. Yuck.

We have one more shot of being up north when we get back from Ohio and Michigan in July and I've been told that the ticks are done come July due to the dryness. Here's hoping!

Anyways, as mentioned above, this kicks off our traveling farewell tour, but in truth we've been saying goodbye for quite some time. It's a long, drawn out experience to leave a place and a people. Graduation was a good ritual for launching us all into our various new locations and callings, but I've been enjoying the informal rituals as well. The last group trip to Mannings. A BBQ in Como with Bocce. Board games and high teas.

So, while the ticks are not my favorite part of this ritual, their presence is welcome only because I am more than happy to say adios to them.