Fire ants in my pants

When I was about five or six, I went for an afternoon hike Across the Way, that is, across the road to the neighbor's summer place, in Forest Knolls. We hiked  up the hill, with my grannie and my favorite cousin in the lead. We were standing admiring the view, looking out across the Stone's pasture, and Mt. Barnabe with its long shadows at dusk, when something began pinching me. I screamed and pulled my flannel plaid lined jeans off, my cousin Ricky sniggering away—I was standing on an anthill of angry red fire ants.

added, rev. 2/18