Chigger Hell

I recently returned from an assignment in Mississippi, which, prior to this visit, was one of those states I've never had the pleasure of visiting. I can say without hesitation that Mississippi is a beautiful state. The weather was delightfully unseasonably cool, the people were gracious, charming and friendly, the accommodations were first-rate, the food was fantastic, the tea was sweet, minty and cold, the bourbon was delicious, and the landowner's conservation efforts to bring back wild quail were laudatory and inspiring.

But I will never, ever go back there, or anywhere back east or south again, without an industrial-sized can of "Deep Effing Woods GTF OFF!" (which is a bit stronger than regular Deep Woods OFF!), because I came back from Mississippi with a raging case of...chiggers.

If you are fortunate enough to live in a place with no chiggers, then just Google them. If you do live in Chiggerland, then I'm not telling you anything you don't already know.

I hate chiggers. Intensely. I grew up with chiggers, suffered their disgusting, parasitic habits my entire life, and when I finally moved away from Chiggerland to a sparser, more arid, less chigger-friendly clime, I rejoiced. And stopped scratching.

But the downside to living outside Chiggerland is that you get lazy, let your guard down. You forget the evil, the misery. Then you make a return visit to Chiggerland without taking precautions, without preparing yourself. And that's when the little bastards get you.

And they got me. Lesson learned.

OK, so the picture isn't a real chigger, it's a Berkley Chigger Craw (a soft plastic bass bait for you non-anglers), but the photographs of actual chiggers (actually it's the larval stage that feeds on you) are so repulsive I couldn't bring myself to use one...

So, to reiterate: if you're traveling to any region where "here" is a two-syllable word, be sure to pack your "Deep Effing Woods GTF OFF!" Apply liberally and often. You'll thank me for it.