Abstract
The year 2006 witnessed an unexpected milestone in my life: my first encounter with Poison Ivy. Not that I had never seen nor touched the infamous Rhus radicans before. Quite the contrary. A committed nature lover since birth, I have spent around four decades gloriously bushwhacking, tree hugging, dirt digging, bug chasing, rock clambering, and animal tracking. My body has suffered many indignities with aplomb. In each of these situations, I have watched with rapt attention the scientific processes at work: the sucking sounds as tweezers pull each cactus spine from my leg; the predictable trajectory of chigger blisters aiming towards their rendezvous on my toe with a fire-ant bite.
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