Document text
- Subscribe - Contact Us - Rate Card - Place an Ad Valley&State Backpage O&E Sports Archives Classifieds Faith&Beliefs Obituaries Revels April 30, 2004 OK, this poison oak thing is getting old Jennifer Squires So, I still don't know what a poison oak leaf looks like. Although I've lived in Oregon all my life and am pushing five years of residence in Ashland, I still find a way into a thicket of poison oak every spring. I camp. I hike. I even have dogs, but somehow, I don't learn. The thing is, I thought I'd developed an immunity. Ah, but this was speculation. According to the expert who handed over generous doses of Prednisone tablets and Cortisone cream to me this week, immunity to poison oak is just another urban myth. There is no magical cure-all that will render someone un-allergic to the monstrous bush, therefore people should refrain from taking poison oak pills, ingesting parts of the plant or rolling around in a grove of the oily little leaves. Repeat exposure will only do one thing: give you more scaly, itchy red rashes all over your body. I should know. Since I became old enough to rent a rated-R movie, I've developed an inexplicable attraction to the horrific creation we call "poison oak." No matter what, I manage to run, walk or crawl through poison oak just when it's at its super-potent, dripping-with-oil stage each spring. My junior year in high school, I innocently scooted through a field of poison oak on my hands and knees wearing cut-offs and a tank top. Oblivious to what I'd done, I thought the bumps on my legs and arms were the result spider bites. Right. Maybe if I were locked in a glass coffin on "Fear Factor." When the yellow blisters developed, I caught on that maybe, just maybe, there hadn't been a spider infestation on my legs and applied some Calamine lotion (this does not cure poison oak, either). It wouldn't go away. The kids at school started calling me "Epidemic." When the rash lasted longer than their MTV-attention spans, they shortened the nickname to "Epy." Teachers made me stand in the back of the classroom so I wouldn't infect the chairs, although one did let me put paper towels on the seat so I could have a break. The whole ordeal lasted more than a month, required dual steroid- and antibiotic-treatment and taught me an important lesson: don't crawl through poison oak. The next spring, I hiked through it instead. The following year, my first in Ashland, I ran through it in Lithia Park. Once I got it from my dog, another time from camping and once I touched the plant to illustrate how I don't get poison oak (I got it). Sometimes, I just find it on my arm or leg, completely clueless as to how it got there. But really, by now, I should know my way around the woods. It's not as if I grew up in some subdivided urban jungle. My entire childhood occurred on the wooded hillside that was my family's backyard. The Barbies my sister and I got on holidays sat boxed in the closet while she, our brother and I traipsed across the acre-and-a-half of old growth my parents had smartly preserved. We had forts, obstacle courses, climbing trees and mud slides. In the decade and a half I lived there, it was only in the year before I moved away that the rash finally got me. In fact, none of us had ever had it. Sure, we'd skinned knees and elbows, my brother broke an ankle and we all scored enough bee stings to finally leave the critters alone. We even learned which otherwise-harmless snake would take a snap at you, given the chance (it's the Red Racer, if you're concerned). But never were we educated to the dangers - or even the leaf-shape - of poison oak. And somehow, I still don't get it. I mean, I could describe it. I could draw a picture. But give me two paths to choose from in the forest and, undoubtedly, I'll pick the poison oak-infested trail and then fall face-first onto the densest part of the thicket. This time around, it was the Lower Klamath River, just across the California-Oregon border at the Tree of Heaven campground. It appears I rubbed my face in the plant - just bent down and went "Arrgh!" into the bush demonstrate my dominance to the most-feared enemy of campers, hikers and people with no basic knowledge of botany, like me. The funny thing is, I'd stared straight at a hillside covered in the plant and said "No, I don't think that's poison oak." I had a 50-50 chance and, well, I lost. I lost big time. Now, it's on my face, neck, arms, legs and, if I'm really lucky, beginning to grow alongside my tiny bamboo plant on the window sill. Maybe I should have gone for the refillable prescriptions. DailyTidings.com Home Page Valley&State | Backpage | O&E | Sports | Archives | Weather | Classifieds Columnists | Faith&Beliefs | Obituaries | Revels | Subscribe | Contact Us Copyright 2004 Ashland Daily Tidings and Ottaway Newspapers All Rights Reserved Click Here Site Search: .:Advertisements:. RESOURCES - Mail Tribune News - ODOT Road Cams