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Poison Ivy, A Poem
Leaves of three, let them be,
Except they be my property.

The pile on the ground, about two feet high, is all poison ivy, with some unavoidable pachysandra collateral damage, and some intentional wild grape, English ivy, and maple saplings thrown in. The poison ivy was all over that maple trunk, almost up to the first limb. It’s hard to tell because of the shade, but the circle in front of the maple, the dark green down to the hostas and lawn, was all riddled with poison ivy.

Multiply that pile, plus what’s in the plastic bag, by about three and that’s how much has already been ripped out from the area left of the tree, since we moved in. Whenever the mood strikes, since February I’ve put on a long-sleeved shirt and my now poison-ivy-only gloves, have waded in, and have had at it. Most of the light green behind and to the right of the tree must be gotten to.

I like weedkiller even less than poison ivy, so this is my strategy for now. Actually, it pulls up a bit easier than English ivy. Next year will tell if I adhere to my no-weedkiller principles.

The poison ivy is localized on the property, but the locale is large. There’s some comfort in knowing that there will always be work for me.

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