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I take the prize when it comes to attracting pestsI take the prize when it comes to attracting pests

Life Is Simple: Ticks and chiggers just love me.

Jerry Crownover

April 20, 2021

3 Min Read
sunset

“Breaking news — tick and chigger season is here!” Believe it or not, this was an actual news story on my local TV news station last week. I kept waiting for their next bombshell, “News alert — the sun is expected to rise in the east tomorrow morning!”

Those of us who live out in rural areas don’t have to rely on astute, investigative journalists to provide that information to us. We know, and I know more keenly than most.

Critter magnet

For as long as I can remember, I have been a critter magnet when it comes to the disgusting, tiny pests. As a child, I could walk side-by-side with my father through woods and meadows, which would result in Dad having nary a single tick on himself, while I would have enough on me to replenish the planet, in case a nuclear disaster ever wiped out the population.

In late February, just a week after we had experienced sub-zero temperatures and 10 inches of snow, I was walking through the woods in search of a cow and, lo and behold, I felt something on my leg, just above boot high, and guess what? Why me?

I always blamed my ability to attract the varmints on my naturally sweet disposition, but way too many people have disputed that idea throughout the rest of my life, so I guess I’ll have to get rid of that argument and make up something else.

When it was blackberry-picking time in my youth, I would get covered with the critters, to the point that Mom would have to smear bacon grease all over my wounds to keep me from clawing my legs into tiny pieces. I can also remember my parents soaking rags in kerosene and tying them around my ankles in an effort to keep the tiny biters at bay. It didn’t work.

Throughout my life, I’ve tried every spray and powder available to mankind to keep from getting ticks. I’ve attached fly tags to the pull-strap of my boots, soaked my pants legs in de-lousing liquid, and purposely spilled cattle de-wormer all over myself (don’t try this at home), all to no avail. How I’ve lived for almost 69 years without contracting Lyme disease, Rocky Mountain spotted fever, or any host of other tick-borne diseases is a miracle in itself, but I’ve just learned to live with the pests.

I should add that the news story about tick and chigger season had a rather interesting twist. Evidently, state entomologists want to learn more about the ticks that we’re getting around my neck of the woods, and instructed people who might get ticks to pick them off, put them in a small plastic bag, and mail them to a certain laboratory. The local health department would even provide the baggie, free of charge, to help them with their research.

I plan on going by my local health department tomorrow and request a container to send in my ticks. A five-gallon bucket should be about right.

Crownover farms in Missouri.

About the Author

Jerry Crownover

Jerry Crownover wrote a bimonthly column dealing with agriculture and life that appeared in many magazines and newspapers throughout the Midwest, including Wisconsin Agriculturist. He retired from writing in 2024 and now tells his stories via video on the Crown Cattle Company YouTube channel.

Crownover was raised on a diversified livestock farm deep in the heart of the Missouri Ozarks. For the first few years of his life, he did without the luxuries of electricity or running water, and received his early education in one of the many one-room schoolhouses of that time. After graduation from Gainesville High School, he enrolled at the University of Missouri in the College of Agriculture, where he received a bachelor's degree in 1974 and a master's of education degree in 1977.

After teaching high school vocational agriculture for five years, Crownoever enrolled at Mississippi State University, where he received a doctorate in agricultural and Extension education. He then served as a professor of ag education at Missouri State University for 17 years. In 1997, Crownover resigned his position at MSU to do what he originally intended to after he got out of high school: raise cattle.

He now works and lives on a beef cattle ranch in Lawrence County, Mo., with his wife, Judy. He has appeared many times on public television as an original Ozarks Storyteller, and travels throughout the U.S. presenting both humorous and motivational talks to farm and youth groups.

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