What-a-Jolly-Street

First let me explain that on Lopez Island is a dump and recycling center where a man named Neil sorts and arranges those things that are reusable and opens his "store" a couple days a week for people to come and get anything they can use. People on the island donate items they no longer need. It's like a Goodwill, but free. It comes from the problem of being on an island where waste disposal is a challenge, and where people believe in reusing things instead of buying everything new. It's an inconvenience to go to a big shopping area to buy things, too. You have to spend an hour or more in transit by ferry, just to get to the mainland. Then there's the car trip to Seattle.

When we went to Lopez Island, I wanted to go to Neil's Mall (aka The Dump). Not because I wanted to bring home a bunch more stuff. No, this time I planned to bring back very little. After all, I've been going through closets and trying to get rid of stuff, so why would I want to bring more stuff home?

But I knew, I just had a feeling, that there would be something special there that would mean something to me. I just had a strong intuition about that. It would be something that really didn't matter to anyone else, but it would be meaningful to me. I thought I would find it in the book section, or on the shelves near the books. But I wasn't sure it would be a book. I thought maybe it would be a box or something. I had a sense about the size of it.. that it would be about 10 or 12 inches by 7 or 8 inches, and maybe two or three inches deep. It was a vague feeling and I didn't pay a whole lot of attention to it, not consciously anyway.

When we got there, I briefly scanned the clothing, found a couple of items that looked cool, including a vintage flannel shirt with funny dogs on it and a black sweater with silver star buttons. I put them in the car and then walked over to the book section. My eyes scanned the shelves. (I'm always hoping to find Opal Whitely's "The Fairyland Around Us" but I don't expect to. I missed my opportunity for that one, the time I passed it by at Smith Family Books, before I knew who Opal Whitely was, back in 1989 or so.) Anyway, I didn't even have to search for the book I had come for. It was lying right on top of a stack of books on the childrens' shelf: "365 Bedtime Stories."

There was the familiar scene on the cover, brightly colored, the one I remember so well from my childhood, of old Mrs. Apricot telling stories to the neighborhood children. I think it was my sister's book, actually. We used to call it "What-a-Jolly-Street" instead of the actual title, because that was the name of the street that the characters lived on. Every page holds a different short story, one for each day of the year. It begins with Baby New Year and ends with Father Time. Okay, so my sister and I used to think the book was a bit silly, the name of the street especially so. Some of the stories were quite boring. We made fun of it.. but it inspired stories I wrote of made-up kids in made-up neighborhoods. And I remember well the map on the inside of the book cover. It depicted the homes on the street, where the children lived, and the school and Mrs. Apricot's house, all labeled with a key.

So I picked up the book and opened it. Printed on non-archival paper, the pages are evenly yellowing. It seemed so familiar that I was surprised to find that it was not the actual book that belonged to my sister. But there is no writing inside, and we always wrote our names in our books. The spine had been carefully mended with clear tape. The hard cover is cardboard, which is also disintegrating at the edges. The copyright is 1955. Overall the book is in good shape, considering the material it's made of.

When I got home, I googled it. I found that other revised editions were published later, and apparently this version is the original. It is a collector's item now. But for me, it's a memory. I can hardly wait to show it to my sister!

Frightening Plants

Blackberries in Oregon are delicious, free and plentiful. In August I carry a couple of small buckets in my car at all times, just in case I come across a blackberry patch. Some of my friends carry garden clippers, because it's easier and less wounding to clip the thorny vines away before reaching for the berries. However, there is danger, in addition to the spikes on the branches.. poison oak lurks among the blackberry brambles.

About 24 hours after contact with the toxic oil from the poison oak plant, my skin develops large yellow fluid-filled blisters. The itchiness is unbearable. The torment lasts for 2 - 3 weeks. I have to take prednisone to quiet the allergic reaction, which can continue up to a month as my body inflames, trying to fight the toxins in my system. Everything reacts, I become irritable and itchy skin becomes tender and painful, sending pain down to the very roots of the nerves.

One time at age 17, while hiking with friends, I came into direct contact with so much poison oak that my left arm swelled into a blimp shape. Trails of yellow blisters evidenced the track the branch had left as it brushed my arm. I still have the scar, a long white line, where the blisters broke. That was before I knew what the plant looked like.

"Leaflets three, let it be." But lots of plants have leaves of three.But I know what poison oak looks like. The shiny oil makes the leaves glisten, especially in spring and summer. They turn vibrant red in autumn. People have said that you can't get poison oak in winter. They are wrong. All parts of the plant carry the toxic oil.

I can't even pet animals that live in areas where there is poison oak. I can't live in the woods or in the country, because I love cats. They bring the oil home on their fur. I've had friends who were offended when I wouldn't pet their dog because they live near open fields where poison oak grows. I love animals and I'd love more than anything to pet them and play with them. But people just don't understand what this plant does to me.

Once when we had a French girl staying with us for the summer and we went out to pick blackberries, I warned her about this plant that could make you break out in a horrible rash. She didn't believe me. She thought I was playing a trick on her. I guess they don't have poison oak or ivy in France.

Thankfully there is Fels Naptha bar soap. It's a detergent, which is necessary to break down the oil from the plant. Other products, like Technu, have been developed, but in my experience, Fels Naptha works much better, and it's far cheaper. I'm never without it on a camping trip. My friends' father was a volunteer fire fighter, and that's what they always washed with after coming back from fighting fires. It will dilute the oil, if used within two hours of exposure. Then, of course, you must also wash all of your clothes immediately. The oil stays potent for a long time, I'm not sure how long. But that's why it can seem like you can start healing, only to have it get worse again. Since it takes 24-48 hours for the allergic reaction to begin, it's sometimes hard to pinpoint the source of the contaminant.

I took pictures on my walk yesterday, laughing at myself for the fear reaction I was having. I knew I didn't touch it. And it can't jump out an attack. Or can it? When I got home I showered with Fels Naptha.

The next morning I woke up with my heel itching intensely. Looking down, I saw the distictive yellow fluid-filled blister. Impossible! I had been wearing shoes and socks! But I wore sandals at other times.. so apparently sometime in the previous day or two, I had come into contact with a tiny glossy leaflet three, lurking somewhere in the grass where I had been walking...