Years ago, when the kids were young, we decided to move from the hustle & bustle and dangers of city living, to the quiet and safe countryside.

Having been born and raised in the city, I was quite naive of the creatures and plants of the frontier. For example, there are flies that the locals call “deer flies”. Now these flies are very intelligent and tough, tougher then the ghetto flies of the city. It’s modus operandi is to circle its victim, picking out the best place to land, where the victim can neither see nor swat it. It has the uncanny ability to land so softly, that, by the time the victim realizes they’ve been bitten, its flying off with a half pint of there blood, and, if by the remote chance you do get to swat it, it will fall to the ground in a crumpled pile, as you stand over it, gloating in your victory. (I’ve fallen for this numerous times) After about ten minutes of gloating, to your disbelief, a leg moves, then it’s wings flutter and before you can comprehend what is happening, it flies off giving you the middle wing.

When walking my dog and one begins to circle me, it strikes terror into my very soul. I begin flailing my arms around and uttering such phrases as (#%$@#$ deer flies, stinking rotten &%#@$ deer flies). Anyone who may be watching me, unfamiliar with the flies, would probably think I have Tourettes or something.

About now, you’re probably wondering what the hell does this have to do with Poison Ivy.

One hot and humid day of our first spring living in the country, I was working outside with my shirt off. We have pine trees that line our driveway and they were very small at the time. I looked down at this one tree and saw a vine creeping up it. I remember thinking (I don’t want this vine to strangle my little pine tree), so I reached down and yanked the vine off the tree. At about this same time one of those damn deer flies bit me in the middle of my back (I forgot to mention that they also wait for you to get busy with both hands before striking). Well, I brought that vine up and over my head and began using it as if it were a backscratcher, in a desperate attempt to dislodge the damn deer fly, while uttering those phrases I tend to utter.

The next day, as I sat in my agony, despair and blisters, I remember thinking I was much safer living in the city.