Every true Texan has a scorpion story. My first one happened 25 years ago, when I was a naive new Austinite, having recently moved from the West Coast. I saw one climbing the wall in our bedroom, panicked, and sprayed it with an entire can of lemon-scented Pledge. I then bravely vacuumed up the arthropod, now shiny and smelling like the world’s worst limoncello, threw the vacuum cleaner outside with the creature still wriggling inside, and told my husband we were moving.
He didn’t agree, which is why I have a second scorpion story. More on that later.
There’s just something creepy about scorpions. Maybe it’s their whiff of inherent (and legitimate) danger. Maybe it’s their sharp pincers and stinger. Maybe it’s their otherworldly, ancient vibe. After all, they’ve been around for more than 400 million years, outlasting dinosaurs. Or maybe it’s that you never really see or hear a scorpion coming, like you do with other predators. They don’t exactly warn you with a buzz or a hiss. They just . . . appear. And many scorpion encounters end the same way as an episode of Game of Thrones: in injury, violence, or both.
Some of the “Surprise, it’s a scorpion!” stories I’ve heard include tales of them in people’s beds, on couches, paddling around swimming pools, in a pair of pantyhose someone was wearing at the time, and, perhaps most horrifying of all, flying off a ceiling fan like a team of mini acrobats in Cirque du Scorpion. And, of course, they often hang out in boots and shoes, which is why one of the first things I was told as a new Texan was to be careful when getting dressed. There’s even a riff on the song Rock You Like a Hurricane, by the German hard rock band the Scorpions (no relation), that some people sing to remind themselves of the dangers lurking in their Nikes: “It’s early morning, the sun comes out. Shake your shoes, get the scorpions out.”
The hands-down worst place I’ve heard of someone finding a scorpion is in their baby’s diaper. “That solved the mystery of why she’d been so fussy that morning,” the baby’s father, my friend Clay Nichols, said. (That baby grew into a college student, who is doing just fine.)
I’ve seen many more scorpions in our house over the years, but last month, I was finally stung by one that was hiding in a beach towel (scorpion story number two). I later learned that July and August comprise peak scorpion season in Texas, since the heat can drive the critters inside as they search for shelter and food. This time, lemon Pledge didn’t save me from receiving a super painful, electric current type of sensation on my finger that hurt like a mother for a full 24 hours. But in addition to neurotoxic venom, the sting also imbued in me an urge to learn more about these little armored creatures we seemingly can’t avoid in Texas (they’re found statewide). And what I learned is that they’re actually pretty fascinating. Sorry!
Scorpions don’t need a bumper sticker to prove it, but they’re native to Texas. About eighteen described species reside in Texas, but by far the most common is the striped bark scorpion (Centruroides vittatus), which is found statewide. These are usually light brown in color, and adults average a length of about 2.5 inches. Not too big. However, despite research that proves the rule of thumb that the larger the pincers, the weaker the venom, you shouldn’t worry too much about getting stung by a member of this species. None of the scorpions in Texas pose much of a health threat to humans, in fact. The pain is often compared to that delivered by a wasp or bee sting, though in my experience, this description downplays it just a tad. Texas scorpions have milder, less painful venoms than some other species, as I learned when I called Poison Control (the first thing you should do after being stung, if you’re concerned). The person on the other line immediately asked if my sting happened in my home state. “Yes,” I moaned. “I couldn’t afford a vacation this summer. Don’t rub it in.” The situation could’ve been much more urgent if I’d been stung in Arizona, where a more dangerous scorpion lives.
I spoke with Bug Hartsock, a native Austinite and master’s candidate in the entomology lab at the University of Wisconsin–La Crosse whose passion for insects runs so deep that they formally changed their name to celebrate the critters. Hartsock shared a fact that might be surprising: scorpions are really good moms. “All the scorpion groups we know of give live birth,” they said. “After emerging, the babies ride around on the mom’s back and are cared for until they grow.” And get this: the babies are called scorplings, which I grudgingly admit is pretty adorable. My friend Catherine Morris agrees with me. When she was 41.5 weeks pregnant, she found a mama scorpion “with about one zillion baby scorplings clustered all over her back.” Despite her horror, she couldn’t bring herself to kill them. That maternal instinct, man. It gets you every time.
Wizzie Brown, an entomologist and extension program specialist with Texas A&M AgriLife Extension Service, gave me even more intel on striped bark scorpions. I knew their natural dwellings are woodpiles; dark, damp areas; and brush, so I asked her why they’re so often seen in our houses. Do they have a penchant for wainscoting and open-plan kitchens? Well, no. “Striped bark scorpions can wander indoors when they need a better place to hang out, if it gets excessively dry outside or cold,” she told me. “They also may move indoors when their habitat is disturbed, like by revamping a landscape or building new homes.”
And as for what we can do to keep them out? Brown says we basically need to cut ’em off at the pass. “Use sealant around any pipe or wire penetrations, keep screens in good repair, make sure weather stripping forms a good seal around doors and windows, trim trees and shrubs that touch or overhang the house, repair any water leaks, clean out gutters, block weep holes with copper mesh, and place stainless steel screening over vents to allow air flow,” she wrote in an email. “Don’t pile firewood right by the backdoor, and use a pesticide around the outside of the home along the foundation.” That seems like a lot of work, yes, but it also seems worth it to not wake up with a scorpion crawling on your face.
But what if none of that works and you still get stung? Relax (ha) and know you’re most likely going to be okay. A scorpion sting is painful, but in the vast majority of cases, it’s not a medical emergency. That said, if the stinging sensation lasts for more than a few minutes, or if you’re struggling to breathe, have heart palpitations, or feel weird in your arms or legs, get medical help immediately. If it’s a small child who gets stung, no matter their reaction, call your doctor or take the child to urgent care.
Reduce the swelling from the sting by treating the area with ice, and also use a topical anti-itch cream to lessen the discomfort. Benadryl helped me a lot. Christi Bacot, a horse trainer in Cedar Creek, has been stung by scorpions countless times. She shared with me the following tips:
- Sting on foot or toe? Take a nine-by-thirteen-inch baking pan, fill to one inch with cold water, add ice if preferred, and stir two to three tablespoons of baking soda into water. Submerge foot in pan and leave for one to three hours.
- Sting on forearm, finger, or leg? Wet a paper towel, slap baking soda and water onto the middle, then wrap around the finger, arm, or leg. (The baking soda method isn’t just folk medicine; it’s endorsed by the Johns Hopkins School of Medicine.)
I’m still not a fan of the scorpion (which is, unfortunately, also my astrological sign, so please don’t give me any Scorpio jewelry, ever), but I do appreciate learning more about these animals, like how they glow a really pretty blue under ultraviolet light and how they perform a mating dance that includes a promenade à deux and sometimes a kiss. Our little whip-tailed friends must be doing something right to have lived this long. Everyone loves a survivor. But I really hope I don’t experience scorpion story number three any time soon.
