May 24
2007
In Spite of All the Danger
I am a warrior. I am an adventurer. I face dangers every day without fear. Unflinching. Unfailing. Unafraid.
I…am…a…gardener.
The past few weeks have taught me that there is a host of dangers lurking out there among the butterflies and buttercups. I am a walking, itching, oozing example.
In the wee hours of the morning I awoke with a burning and itching sensation on my face. This morning–there it was. There was a slash of red rash from my forehead to my cheek and creeping down the back of my neck. Poison ivy. Ugh.
According to the American Academy of Dermatology, about 85% of people are allergic to poison ivy.
I don’t want to boast, but I happen to excel in this regard. I just have to THINK about poison ivy and I start to break out. If I stand downwind of a poison ivy sproutlette, I’m a gonner. A couple of years ago, I got such a bad case the doctor told me it was the WORST he had ever seen. At first he didn’t even believe it was just poison ivy. He thought maybe it was leprosy or some sort of hazmat accident.
Harry, on the other hand, is bulletproof in this respect, as in about every other way I can imagine. He doesn’t need to eat or sleep as much as normal human beings. He never–ever–gets sick. He does not catch colds or get tired. He can have a POISON IVY SALAD and walk away unscathed. IS THAT FAIR?
I see this as yet another joke God has played on Robin. Nothing makes me happier than being outdoors, gardening and playing with the little dogs. So what does God do? He makes me allergic to everything outdoors and to DOGS! I HAVE TO GET SHOTS!
To add insult to injury, I was taking my ravaged face out for a walk this morning up and down our long driveway. (Exercise, you know?) I looked to my right and what did I see? A mysterious cloud arising from the hayfield on this otherwise sunny day. At first I thought perhaps something was on fire. FIRE!!! The air was filled with this MYSTERIOUS CLOUD.
But then…it dissipated. And there was no lingering smoky smell.
But I started to SNEEZE and my head nearly exploded. Yep. Hay pollen.
I got to thinking about my explorer friends and the dangers that they face climbing Everest or braving the venomous snakes of the Amazon. It seems to me that as a gardener I face more than my share of hazards. If my ravaged face and exploding, sneezing head weren’t enough, let me give you a few MORE examples:
-The hand surgeon people tell us that gardening can wreak havoc with our hands and much more. In fact, they give us the handy statistic that there are more than 400,000 outdoor gardening-related emergency room visits each year. There is a mighty useful article that I won’t bother to re-state here, so go visit it now and save yourself a lot of pain and embarrassment.
-Sunburn. Put on some filmy, gauzy clothing or some coconut scented lotion, but save yourself the sunburn issue. Myself, I have invested in a fetching floppy hat. Think of it as a fashion statement. And I also make sure to use an SPF 24 on my face and other extremities.
-Falling down on your butt. NOT ME, but a clumsy-favored-relative-by-marriage recently did something quite silly and managed to slip and fall on his BEE-HIND, landing him in the emergency room and hospital for a couple of days. I haven’t heard the story first-hand, but Harry tells me that it was a mowing incident gone awry. Be careful with big machines and wet grass.
-Branches. How many times have I nearly been blinded by a branch or wayward twig as I was reaching just…a…little…bit…farther into the bushes?
-Similarly, I have learned to wear eye protection when using the weed wacker. Bad things can happen when it kicks up stuff (a technical gardening term).
-Protect your ears. Aaaah. The day that the monster mulcher people gave me my very own ear protection, I started wearing them all the time. I can do the weed whacking a LOT longer, use the blower for an ETERNITY and do all sort of other nifty power tool tricks now that my ears don’t take the beating and I don’t get a headache. (Now that I’m thinking about it, they might come in handy INDOORS when my 16-year-old son is lobbying to get the banished TV back into his room.)
There are a bunch more hazards out there waiting for you…bees, cuts, bites and such. But think of the whole thing as your own personal adventure into the wilds. I don’t need to join an African expedition or jump from towering cliffs to get my adrenalin pumping. I just have to walk out the back door.
How sweet is that?
