When we first moved out to the farm, I was 20 years old. Full of energy and motivation.
So were the vines residing at the farm. The house was covered in beautiful green ivy. The silo had the beginnings of some sort of viny vegetation creeping up the base. And the pecan trees down the lane had some definite poison ivy invading their turf.
I liked the pretty ivy on the house. It could stay.
But the vines on the silo and pecan trees looked a bit unkept.
Being that I was 20 and thus by default, immortal and completely invincible, I decided to take matters into my own unprotected hands and loosen the poisonous vegetation’s death grip from the pecan trees with the intention of completely eradicating it.
I had declared war.
Mono y mono.
Soon after, I came down with a full body rash that covered every square centimeter of my being. But the trees were free from the confines of the toxin bearing greenery. For good.
The trees have been toxin free for a full decade. And just for the record, that remains the one and only time I have ever been cursed with the wretched rash.
The poison ivy may have won the battle, but I won the war.
I lost that war.