I have become an expert on things living in the country.
Got some ants in the kitchen?
I'll kill them.
Or send Chad in to do it.
Got a downed tree limb that's hanging by a thread?
I'll get it down.
By calling Chad over with the chainsaw.
Got a hornet flying around the living room or a wasp nest in the porch corner?
I'll get it and quietly remove it from the house or tear the nest down.
Really, I will.
Chad is afraid of hornets and wasps.
Find some poison ivy near your children's play area?
I'm your lady!
I don't spray chemicals or get all scared and ooged out by the creeping viney plant of doom.
I get out my gloves and either pull it out of the ground or snip it near the base of the root.
This can be tricky, though.
I think I got poison ivy on my right wrist recently from doing a pull and bag job.
Now, if my dad sees some, he wants to get out the poison and go to town.
He hates poison ivy as much as he hates moles.
He's an awesome gardener and these two things drive him mad.
He's had poison ivy in strange places, so I can see why he doesn't like the itchy offender.
When it starts to get all bumpy like this (and this is just the beginning of the nasty bumpiness it offers as the summer goes on), it's got SUPER POISON POWER!
Back off people!
But, I don't poison anything.
I try to garden as organically as possible.
And besides, we get a lot of deer and they are supposed to love to eat the stuff.
They really need to get more ravenous on it, though.
This stuff will creep up a tree faster than you can say "swashbuckling scallywag!" and voila, you have a poison ivy tree!
Nasty stuff indeed.
Here's a song/poem Zoe wrote last summer about poison ivy...
"I'm poison ivy
I'm poison ivy
don't touch me .
If you touch me you will be
itchy, itchy, itchy,
don't touch me.
Poison ivy climbs up
trees, trees, trees."