chigger blogger

I was told to blog that I needed a name. Some blog names center on what a person does, and others use nicknames. I considered the deadly pen blogger, but it didn't seem to fit. It was suggested that I use my childhood nickname, but to do so, would call for an explanation.

I grew up four miles from the center of a small town. Which basically means that I lived in the country. My dad refused to let me own a bike (long story), so my only mode of travel was to walk. We weren't connected to our neighbors by a winding sidewalk. A visit to anyone involved a trek through a pasture or along the road.

My cousins and best friend, Glynda, lived the equivalent of three city blocks across a pasture from me. Not that far. But if I went along the road, it was more like seven. Now why would I even consider the longer way? Crossing the pasture meant the possibility of a confrontation with a snake lying in wait in the tall weeds.

Depending on how brave I felt, determined my route. To cross the pasture was always a dare. I would take the stance of a sprinter, take deep breaths, and then run as fast as possible--never stopping until I reached the safety of their yard. In all the years that I crossed that pasture, not once did I ever see a snake, but no matter how fast I ran--red bugs, called chiggers in northeast Texas, would attach themselves to my body--not just a few, but dozens of them. All spring and summer, I would be covered with red bumps.

It seemed I was the only one afflicted by them, something that I found strange. My cousins found it amusing, so they started calling me, Chigger or Chig, and most still do to this day.