The Gibson family farm has been in our family since 1906. It has been a fully functioning farm the whole time. My Grandfather and Great-Grandfather grew mostly canola and durum, and for the past ten years my father has been raising sheep. Our farm is located in the south-west corner of Saskatchewan. I grew up mostly in the city of Saskatoon, spending my summers out at the farm. You could say I have a bit of farm-kid in me. The farm spans for hundreds of acres around the farmhouse, but the garden is just down a path through the yard. This is where the magic happens...
Right now, in the wonderful province of Saskatchewan, we are in the middle of tick season. As a city girl, I’ve never even seen a tick. Well, except for the one unlucky guy that hitched a ride on my co-workers pant leg. We put him in a pill bottle and tried to keep him alive with African violet leaves and drops of blood from another incredibly generous co-worker who just happened to give herself a papercut. We named him Ted. Ted survived an impressive three days in his new home, before his untimely death which resulted in toilet bowl funeral. Poor Ted.  But I digress. Back to tick season. Quite honestly, I’m terrified of any tick outside of a plastic pill bottle. For starters, they’re very small, they lurk in tall grass (which I am surrounded by for miles) and... they suck blood!!!! Any creature that drinks my blood is not okay in my books.  Also, they carry the dreaded Lyme disease, which is extremely uncommon but non-the-less frightening.  The best way to protect yourself is by avoiding tall grass and wearing long pants and covered feet. Insect repellent containing DEET is also recommended.  My big black rubber boots seem to protect me just fine, but what about my dogs? Molly is basically a walking cottonball and Charlie is brown, which makes it hard to find anything in his fur. I tried the liquid stuff that you apply to the skin back of their neck. This is supposed to keep not only ticks away, but also fleas and mosquitoes. But it’s very toxic, and it made their fur incredibly greasy and reeking like orange cleaner. So into the bathtub with the pups and into the garbage with the rest of the toxic, greasy liquid.  So I guess it’s nightly fur checks for the dogs, which, trust me, will have to involve more than a few pacifying Milkbones (they don't approve of being inspected). But alas, I will sleep soundly knowing there are no ticks lurking in the shadows of my blankets.

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