U.N. Secretary-General António Gutteres spoke solemnly on Monday about the looming catastrophic consequences of climate change. He was yelling “Fire!” The tone: Make no mistake about it. There’s no more if. Only when. Mr. Gutteres didn’t even mention that ticks and poison ivy are already benefiting from a warming planet. I still wanted to bury my head in the sand on a beach that will soon be underwater from melting ice.

I saw the U.N. Secretary’s message yesterday morning before I went out to confront those ticks and poison ivy. I wasn’t suited up for a radiation leak from a nuclear power plant, but I was dressed for protection from toxic elements. Long sleeves, broad brim hat, pants tucked into socks that were sprayed with permethrin. This is a pain in the ass. I have done it for the past few years until May approaches, when I grow tired of suiting up and say the hell with it.

I should remain vigilant, but the thought of global warming makes my head hurt. I’m not doing enough to slow rising temperatures. I try to be an earth steward. I have solar panels and an all-electric car, but sometime this summer I may board a plane for London or Seattle to visit my son or daughter. Air travel carries one of the biggest carbon loads.

My daughter Molly has Lyme, as does her partner Steven. Borrelia burdorferi, a nasty bacterial spirochete, is deeply embedded in their tissues. They are both remarkably positive, but it’s a struggle.

I need to book air travel soon.

I’ve got thousands of daffodils in bloom.

Devil may care.