Once home, chagrinned, I glanced at my insect-shield clothing lying unworn in its basket and my bug spray unsprayed on the mudroom windowsill. I had been tromping full-tilt through a New England forest in the height of tick season with no protection whatsoever.
We are used to the images of war: bombs and bullets and blood. But Nance knows what many Americans are unwilling to recognize: We are at war and this war is being fought on our land.
