While reading my book about weeds (cleverly titled Weeds!) I stumbled on the page devoted to poison ivy. Oh the memories.

When I was young, my mom took me to FortWhyte Centre (now FortWhyte Alive). It was just the two of us--mother-daughter bonding time. We took a guided nature walk.

Believe it or not, I used to be really quiet. Audibly, I still am--hence the reason I've tried voice lessons and projection classes. Maybe I just don't like yelling. Anyway, while we were on our walk, we passed this lovely plant with white berries. I asked the guide what they were. Naturally, me being so quiet and timid, he didn't hear a word I said.

We walked a bit more.

Then we came upon some more of those pretty berries. I asked again.

He still didn't hear me.

I don't know how long that went on for, but eventually I decided to do something bold. I picked several of the berries, walked to the front of the group, tugged on his shirt and held out my hand, "What are these?"

A look of horror on his face, he immediately grabbed my hand and turned it over, shaking all the remnants of the berries. "That's poison ivy!"


He made my mom take me back to the main building and wash my hands as thoroughly as she could.

Of course it didn't help. That's a horrible itch, too. Right on the palm of your hand. Luckily I didn't touch my face with that hand at all...

Oops again.
7/12/2011 02:01:55 pm

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