Poison Parsnip

Friends, I interrupt this blogging hiatus to share a very important public service announcement.
BEWARE OF POISON PARSNIP!

Over the weekend, during a leisurely evening walk, I absent-mindedly picked a bouquet of a yellow field flower that was vaguely familiar.

"How pretty!" I thought to myself. "What are these called again?" I wondered aloud.

As I think back on the moment, it all went down in slow-mo.

"POOOOOOOYZZZZZON PAAAAAARSNIIIIIIIIP!" my husband bellowed, as I dropped the flowers in horror. How could I forget?

If I were a superhero, cursed with an ironic, but potentially career-ending vulnerability, this might have been the end of the line for me: a gardening crusader, brought to her knees by seemingly innocent, irresistible wild flowers. Poison parsnip could be my kryptonite. I've had incidental exposure to the plant before and experienced blisters and subsequent scarring. In this case, I'd been exposed massively.

What next ensued was a frantic rush to mitigate the impact, which involved a mostly fruitless Google search for:
"poison parsnip exposure"
"what to do if you pick poison parsnip"
"stopping poison parsnip blisters before they start"
"omg I am such an idiot there goes my summer what do I do now?" AND "poison parsnip"

Thirty-six hours later, I am still blister free, thanks to some smart advice from a friend who also happens to be a botanist. Here's what worked for me:
(I am not medically trained - use your own judgement and seek expert medical advice!)

What to do if you are exposed to poison parsnip
1) Wash exposed areas immediately. Don't waste time. Get indoors, and wash thoroughly.

2) Get out of the sun. Poison parsnip causes phytophotodermatitis, a big word for "a condition wherein your skin's chemistry is temporarily altered, due to exposure to certain plants, rendering it more vulnerable to UV rays." The plant itself does not cause the blisters, but instead makes you more susceptible to the sun. The burns and blisters that accompany poison parsnip exposure are actually acute sunburn on the compromised skin that came in contact with the plant.

3) Stay out of the sun. Channel your inner vampire, and stay out of the sun for at least 24 hours. Even minimal sun exposure can cause serious harm. Draw the curtains, cover all impacted areas (I wore gloves), and stay inside. Read a book, watch a movie, but whatever you do, avoid the sun, especially in cases of extreme exposure.

4) Consult a doctor. If you begin to react, call your doctor.

 5) Moisturize. If you are lucky enough to avoid blisters or a rash, be sure to moisturize. Your skin will be stiff and dry in the impacted areas.

6) Treat the burns. If you do experience burns and blisters, cold compresses and aloe can help. Consult your doctor.

By following the steps above, I came through this situation blister-free. Summer is saved, and I can get back to the business of tending to the kinder, gentler flowers in my garden.

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Be Merry!


Happy Holidays, to you and yours, from Riverside Farms in Richmond, Vermont!

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Lookin' for Love

I just had to share this awesome video from Farmrun about finding love in unexpected places. Here's to "getting creative" in the search for a soul mate...




Read more about "Weed Dating" on grist.org

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Ladies on the move



These gals come when I call them. Pretty nice, right? I just have to convince the cow at the front of the pack to follow me, and the rest are right behind. That's how herd animals work (and high schoolers, too, if I recall.)


 

Summertime is vacation time for dry (non-lactating...funny term, right?) cows. They spend their days in the pasture, staring blankly at the tourists who pull over on the side of the road to snap their photos. Soon, the weather will get cold and we'll bring them back to the warm barn for the winter. People always comment on how lovely they look outside, but in truth, they are very happy to be in-doors. Still, there's no denying their stark black and white spots look postcard pretty against the deep green pasture backdrop. I will miss watching them through the window as I type at my desk.




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As summer concludes...



My up-close view of this lovely monarch was bittersweet. Summer is winding down, and she'd grown too weary to flee my curiosity. I found her tired and limp in the driveway. I lifted her gently with my fingertip, and placed her on this plush pink zinnia to rest. Her time is near.

There's a rhythm to the seasons and a plan for all living creatures. Sometimes we just have to let go and trust things will be ok.


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Summer on the shore of Lake Iroquois



Fish nibble our toes as we float in our tubes
Laughing, yelling, swigging off beer cans

Women are fussing over pasta salads
Men prod a leaking pipe on the back porch, offering theories

“We’ll fix it tomorrow.”

A bare-bottomed bandit, who’s escaped his mother
Jiggles victoriously as he flees a fresh diaper
photo by Shem Roose

“It won’t be long until we get him on water-skis”
A proud grandpa assures an unconvinced uncle

We talk about baseball, and weddings, and sweet corn varieties
But not about bosses, or bank accounts, or chemotherapy

This is how summer comes, and this is how summer goes
One day blurring happily into the next

Sun burned and sleepy
We settle in by the campfire

As the sun slips behind the pine trees
At the foot of the western shore

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Slightly older, significantly wiser

Like many Americans, I was deeply saddened by the death of Nora Ephron. With humor and heart, she brought relatable women to the silver screen, a welcome relief from the feckless feminine tropes favored by Hollywood.

But I must admit a disproportionate degree of my sorrow came from an unsavory source--a line buried deep within her obituary. My vanity was stirred by the vague and unwelcome recognition that I am moving into a new phase.

“Oh, how I regret not having worn a bikini for the entire year I was twenty-six. If anyone young is reading this, go, right this minute, put on a bikini, and don't take it off until you're thirty-four.”

― Nora Ephron, I Feel Bad About My Neck: And Other Thoughts on Being a Woman

Today is my 34th birthday. From Nora’s lips to God’s ears, I’ve crossed the threshold.


For quite some time, my hairdresser has been hinting it’s time for a shorter, more age-appropriate bob. “Ma’am's” outnumber “misses” 5:1 when strangers address me. And when the teenage cashier calls the higher-ups to check my ID at the liquor store, the manager takes a one look at my burgeoning crow’s feet and sensible shoes and waves me through, from across the store. No need to get up and take a closer look.



My age has snuck up on me in subtle, peevish ways.  My skin still breaks out like it did when I was a teenager, but I need to keep a much closer eye on the topography of my moles. An acquaintance recently inquired about my new spider tattoo – turns out it was just a vein. And body parts just don’t spring back into place the way they used to…more sag and sway than bounce, that’s for sure.



Now, I know some will read this post with a glib smile and think, “HA! 34? Nice try, honey. Wait until you are 40!” or “52!” or “68 years, four months, six weeks, and two days!”


I get it. I’ve got a long road ahead of me – thankfully so! And just as the sixth grade version of me rolled my eyes at the naive fifth graders who complained of too much homework and shouted back “just WAIT til next year!” I know someday I will look back and laugh at the lamenting 34 year old me, who had no idea of the damage to come. The more mature me will assert that she’d gladly face down varicose veins and simultaneous acne in exchange for whatever phase of the aging process I am experiencing at that very moment. I know it.

 In truth, I am enjoying the aging process -- perhaps not the all physical signs, but the emotional benefits are great. This post exemplifies the best of older me. The midriff baring (good God, what was I thinking?) me of yesteryear wouldn’t dare write in public. What will people think? Too much risk. Potential embarrassment. Inappropriate! But the older me just doesn’t care a lick.  doesn’t give a crap.  doesn't give a SHIT! (I know it's ill-advised to swear on the Internet, but just look! I am doing it, anyway, just to make a very bold point! Look out, world. I'm for real now.) I am finding a voice, at last. Before you know it, I'll be that opinionated Granny in Glaucoma glasses from the Hallmark cards, telling it like it is.

Today I turned 34. I'm no longer dabbling in my 30's, I'm fully immersed. I’m not yet a bona fide oldster, but certainly not a “girl” anymore. Women don’t have a comfortable word like “guy” to bridge the vast crevasse between “girl” and “woman,” like men and boys do. Likewise, there are few female role models in the middle, between Taylor Swift and Meryl Streep. I’ve been resisting the latter, but the former just feels silly. Why has it been so hard for a feminist like me to call myself a "woman?" There's a gravitas to the word "woman" that I've resisted, in favor of  flimsy, cutesie alternatives like "chick," or "gal." This is silly, and contradicts my values and beliefs. So what's the hold up? Confidence, I guess. It’s time to make the leap and embrace that title as my own! (Now I need to figure out a new Twitter name...it's currently @vtfarmgirl)

I am a happy, confident, 34 year old woman today. Happy birthday, happy coming-of-age to me, and to all the women out there who are traversing the great divide to womanhood. Lingering pimples, emerging wrinkles, mandatory mammograms...bring it on! I'm ready for all of it. It's a beautiful thing.

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Letters from Strangers



A few weeks ago, I was interviewed for one of my favorite radio programs, The Story with Dick Gordon. It was very exciting to be part of a show I enjoy and admire so much!

After the program aired, something really surprising happened. I started getting emails, LOTS OF EMAILS! People from all over the country wrote to me to tell me what they thought of my interview.
I heard from truck drivers, professional gamblers, stay-at-home moms, and many, many corporate folks who said they dreamed of escaping their cubicles. I heard from people who were happily married, and people who were unhappily married, and those still hoping to meet someone.

The family of one of Ransom's old girlfriends even wrote to me saying they agreed he was a great catch, and wished they could have kept him instead of their niece! What can I say?* He's a keeper.


Some people wrote to share stories of visiting Vermont, others confided they had always wanted to try farming.  Nearly everyone expressed their desire to live a simpler way of life. Nearly everyone talked about the chances they wanted to take, but were hesitant.

It was amazing and completely humbling to realize how many people were listening.

A few of the messages brought me to tears. For instance...

After having a brain aneurism and stroke a year ago i had to quit working a 30 year career. I have had a lot of time to read, think, listen, to what life is all about. I heard your interview on NPR today. I'm pretty sure it was "for a reason". Your courage to say yes to what was asked of you and go against what others thought would be best for you, tells me i can listen more closely to what my heart and God is tying to tell me. You have given me a reassuring hope and insight on how we are part of a plan that we don't know and a higher power has control of.

Wow.

It has taken me five weeks, but I have now written everyone back (except for a few who wrote anonymously).**

The experience has taught me how important it is to share our stories. There was a time when I faced some really unhappy circumstances and felt very lonely and overwhelmed. I turned inward and cut myself off. It wasn't until I started opening up to the world around me that things changed for the better.  

When I started this blog, I was afraid it was self-indulgent and silly, but I did it any way. We spend too much time in our lives censoring ourselves, isolating ourselves.*** I've come around to the opinion that life is too short to keep everything inside.

You might as well tell your story.

Footnotes:
* Don't get any big ideas, Auntie, I do not share.


**As I read these emails late at night, at my computer, wearing my favorite yoga pants with the disintegrated elastic waist, I felt truly unworthy.


***this does NOT apply to those awkward self-portraits some people take of themselves with their cell phones while posing sexy in their bathroom mirror. In that case, please continue to censor yourself. No one wants to see you making kissy faces, standing in front of your dirty toilet. 

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