Living in the woods, I've experienced poison ivy more than I care
to. Every summer I'm careful to make sure I don't brush up against that
dreaded plant with its evil oils. But it doesn't matter how careful I
am, I ALWAYS end up with the danged little blisters every year.
The first year I moved here, I didn't know I had it on my hands and then rubbed my eyes. You guess it, both eyes swelled shut. Talk about pure misery. If it gets into the blood stream, then you're really in trouble. You'll break out in areas where you know for certain never touched poison ivy. Besides the eyes, the worst place is the webbing between the toes. If the military ever looked for a torture technique, that would be perfect. But I suppose torture by poison ivy is less sexy than water-boarding.
Years ago, a young woman moved in down the road who wanted to live off the land. She kept infecting herself with poison ivy while trying to find ginseng. I decided to help her find the herb. As we walked through the woods, she kept pulling up poison ivy plants along the way and asked, "Is this ginseng?" We didn't find ginseng that day. By the time all was said and done, she ended up in the emergency room getting a steroid shot.
So back to my original title, how in the heck did I get poison ivy in the middle of the winter? Can you believe from my firewood? I must have brushed my arm against a dead shriveled vine as I shoved a log into the wood stove. Talk about the gift that keeps on giving. I would write more but I need to scratch right now.
Take care, All
The first year I moved here, I didn't know I had it on my hands and then rubbed my eyes. You guess it, both eyes swelled shut. Talk about pure misery. If it gets into the blood stream, then you're really in trouble. You'll break out in areas where you know for certain never touched poison ivy. Besides the eyes, the worst place is the webbing between the toes. If the military ever looked for a torture technique, that would be perfect. But I suppose torture by poison ivy is less sexy than water-boarding.
Years ago, a young woman moved in down the road who wanted to live off the land. She kept infecting herself with poison ivy while trying to find ginseng. I decided to help her find the herb. As we walked through the woods, she kept pulling up poison ivy plants along the way and asked, "Is this ginseng?" We didn't find ginseng that day. By the time all was said and done, she ended up in the emergency room getting a steroid shot.
So back to my original title, how in the heck did I get poison ivy in the middle of the winter? Can you believe from my firewood? I must have brushed my arm against a dead shriveled vine as I shoved a log into the wood stove. Talk about the gift that keeps on giving. I would write more but I need to scratch right now.
Take care, All
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