I Know it's Itchy, but...

Much of our property grows wild.
And, aside from the few gardens bordering the house, is left to its own devices. The vines of the woods, trumpet creeper, wild grape, and Virginia Creeper, grow freely, draping themselves in sheets from the tops of the trees. Knitting their branches into the canopy beyond our door.

At times, I’m envious of the homes bounded by the more trimmed yards.
Their color-coordinated beds of flowers.
Their beautiful landscapes so demanding of time.

This afternoon, after walking our trails under passing clouds, searching the fields and woods for the migrant warblers, I returned to the house, disappointed. And sat for a moment on a sun-warmed stone on the river rock wall of my herb garden.

Several feet beyond, an unruly vine wrapped its winding way through a small tree—poison ivy.
The reaching arms bare of its fallen red leaves, and now bearing fruit, small white berries.
And Yellow-Rumped Warblers.

Yellow-Rumped Warblers, Dendroica coronata
feeding on poison ivy berries

What we lack in order, we make up for in vigor.

Hoping

The poison ivy is growing--BOLDLY. No more tender, hesitant shoots peeking between blades of grass--the kind that a firm footstep can pin to the ground. It's tall enough now to reach above socks or smack your face extending from the branch of a tree. Which makes getting out in it a bit more of a production! Long pants, long sleeves... whack, whack, whack it back--but at least you can see its threat.
If there was only a way to see chiggers.
"Probably no creature on earth can cause as much torment for its size than the tiny chigger." Every year I live dangerously--holding off on dousing myself with deet for as long as possible. And every year I wake up after a wonderful day in the yard, to find they're here! Actually, they're there, and there, and there...in all the most unscratchable places.
I hope that day is not tomorrow.