Creeping Up On A Lion

I have always been a lover of ivy, both as a ground cover and as a wall climber. One side of our house has English ivy on the ground, and, much to my great excitement, we have just planted fig ivy to go up the walls. And yes I had every nook and cranny inspected as I realize many believe it to be detrimentally invasive. I have never cared for our old brick from the sixties and I think the ivy will look lovely and elegant, in addition to further insulating our home … hence lowering our electric bills. There is one type of ivy of course I can certainly live without — poison ivy. We had an abundance of it growing on our old fence when we moved in and I was too stupid to know what it was. I believe it was at our housewarming party shortly after we were married that I discovered the lush, dense vegetation of which I was so proud was in fact the dreaded poison ivy. My sweet, new southern aunt-in-law pulled me discreetly aside and said (even though she knew with certainty,) “Sugar, I think this is poison ivy!” And the two of us just stood together gazing up at six feet of poison ivy from top to bottom; running all the way across the entire back length of our house. I must have looked stunned because I will never forget she put a consoling hand on my shoulder and said, “Well, it is the FINEST poison ivy I have ever seen!” I still laugh when I think about how terribly gracious she was and how very grateful I was just to know! Normally I love the number three but I have learned to steer clear of the stuff. The first time I got it I foolishly took a hot bath … and it spread. I wound up at the doctor with several shots in the rump, armed with two weeks’ worth of anti-biotics, plus anti-itch cream. For whatever reason the only nut I have never cared for is the cashew; I have no idea why. But I did come across this quote by the American novelist Kate Christensen, which I found fascinating: