In Arkansas, my great-grandparents lived across the street from a wild, wooded area. We’d hike there regularly- and get ticks regularly. I didn’t dread Arkansas on behalf of the ticks; they were just a feature of the landscape. New York was taxis, art museums, and Italian ice; Arkansas was Walmart and ticks.
Nowadays, if you research tick removal, you will be directed to pull it out with tweezers and voila! I’m not sure what was so different back then- it’s possible that some ticks may have burrowed beneath the skin. At least once each visit, the adults would convene and swap home remedies they’d heard in passing, then decide which ones to try. I felt like a guinea pig in some grand insect experiment. Once, a tick got painted with clear nail polish to try and suffocate it. Another time, a flame and burning cigarette were each held near my skin to try and coax the tick out of hiding. Those were not the most comfortable moments for a preschooler. I honestly don’t remember which remedies worked or how the ticks were eventually extracted after failed attempts, but I always went to bed tick-free.
On this trip, I have seen a few ticks, but I’ve never found one on me. I like to think that because of all that experimentation, I now exude a natural tick repellent. It’s my superpower.