Poison Ivy

If I haven’t already mentioned, my philosophy about all things green or flowering is “grow if you want to.” Sometimes it works in my favor. For instance, I once bought a discounted plant. It was priced at 75cents because the few remaining leaves were brown and scraggly. You couldn’t even tell what it was supposed to be. It was clearly dying. I felt like it needed a home. At least its final days would be happy. That was five years ago. It’s now a thriving philodendron.

Of course, sometimes my philosophy fails me, and a plant takes advantage of my kind disposition. Like poison ivy. I suppose I should call it MY poison ivy as it’s taken up residence in three places in my yard. If it had been content to stay in one area, it could make itself comfortable. But it decided to push the envelope.

Now, this plant has me hostage. I can’t kill it. There’s nothing I know of that will destroy this menace that won’t also kill everything else—in direct opposition to how my garden grows. What to do?

I have no choice but to suit up in long sleeves, gloves, a face mask, and long pants and try to extract it with my bare hands. Wish me luck. If, by chance, you have a better idea, please share.