Beware the Poison Ivy

 

Poison Ivy

Beware!  The ivy that is a poisonous threat,

Especially if you haven’t had it yet,

I dared to work in amongst it unprotected,

Now my body is relentlessly affected,

Oh, I saw it there, but did not heed,

I did not wear gloves to intercede,

I did not wear long sleeves to keep my arms,

From all the unforeseen rash and harm,

I did not shower after I finished my task,

I was too tired, in case you ask,

I guess I learned my lesson well,

Three days later, my eyes did swell,

My rash broke out upon my arms and neck,

Between my fingers, what the heck!

The itchiness was quite overwhelming,

The urge to scratch became overbearing,

Off to the doctor I went for relief,

After my swollen face was beyond belief,

Steroids are now my new best friend,

Hopefully, no rage will follow in the end,

Therefore, I say again with urgency,

Save yourself from an emergency,

Beware!  The ivy that is a poisonous threat,

Especially if you haven’t had it yet.

Tammy Harvey

5/24/2023

Valentine's Day 2001

 

As I went through some paperwork at my dad and mom’s house, I happened upon a copy of a poem I wrote for Jerry for Valentine’s Day in 2001.

 Appropriately posted on what would have been our 38th wedding anniversary.

My Valentine to You

It was late in August 1983,

When Tammy met Jerry for the first time you see,

McLeod Park was the location, a company picnic took place,

She saw at once a fantastic sparkle on his face,

He noticed her legs. Oh, how brown they were then!

Was it love at first sight?  Some say it could have been,

The first date was a double, with brother and wife,

BBQ, a country fair, but no wallet caused strife,

The love affair it grew as it often does,

Then Valentine’s Day ’85, he proclaimed his love,

“Will you be my bride?” he was trying to say,

As they sat on the park bench at the end of the day,

The wedding was beautiful as May only can be,

The trip to Hawaii was a sight to see,

Three years later in ’88 they added a son,

His name was Thomas and oh, so much fun!

In exactly three years, another boy they had,

Again, they were blessed with a son for “mom and dad”,

A move to Cary, NC took them away from home,

A new home they started and with love, it has grown,

And to their surprise in 1994,

God’s gift from heaven, a third baby boy to adore,

How could they have deserved a triple delight?

It was truly the completion of something so right,

Time flies by and obligations they grow,

But the love these 5 share they forever will know,

On Valentine’s Day 2000 and one,

It is good to remember the life we have spun,

It has its flaws, oh yes it does, my dear,

But I wouldn’t trade it and look forward to another year,

I love you and my sons, how simple to say,

But most of all, may I show it in a very special way.

Love,

Tammy

 

Little Girl Pearl

 

Firstborn

There once was a precious little girl,

Who most suitably was named Pearl,

She was her parents’ pride and joy,

They lavished her with playful toys,

She paid no mind to all their doting,

All their pining and their gloating,

As she grew,

Her independence did too,

She was a princess gone rogue,

A mischievous child, not at all in vogue,

She made mud pies in the kitchen sink,

And refused to wear the color pink,

She tapped danced atop the grand piano,

Because she was no longer the top banana,

Her parents had given her a baby brother,

He took her spotlight, and her mother,

How dare he come and wreck her world!

A series of misconduct would need to unfurl!

That was the solution, so she thought,

It was only their attention that she sought,

She made as much noise as she could,

To get them to look, if only they would,

Then her dad and mom sat her by their side,

You’re a big sister now, they said with pride,

They lay the tiny baby upon her lap,

The jealousy melted away in a snap,

She knew right away.  She was still their Pearl,

Their one and only firstborn girl!

Tammy Harvey   written:  3/20/2023

Hand in Hand

 Hands

Hands are interesting appendages, and, on this subject, I will linger,

Beginning with tiny baby hands that wrap around a finger,

White and pure as the fresh fallen snow,

Soft and delicate with anticipation to grow,

Sticky child’s hands with dirty fingernails,

Playing outside, doing cartwheels and picking up snails,

Completely covered in fingerpaint or spaghetti,

These hands need experience, so they are ready,

To become adolescent hands, strong and independent,

Mothers don’t know where all the time went,

Then wedding hands with lean long fingers and golden bands,

These are graceful and delightful and hopeful hands,

But the best hands of all are the ones that are old,

With deep creases and wrinkles from years never foretold,

Callused, crippled with arthritis, and in a weakened stage,

Leathery and toughened from hard work and age,

And if they could talk, what stories they would tell,

Of all the things they have done, and done so well,

Grandparents hold onto their grandchild’s hand,

And the cycle continues like turning an hourglass of sand.

Tammy Harvey

Written:  2/28/2023

This poem brought to mind this song:  Put Your Hand in the Hand (1971

A Paint Date

 

Painting Class

Painting is an expressive skill that has no right or wrong,

It is like making up the lyrics to your own individual song,

Anyone can do it, you only have to try,

I had a truly wonderful experience, and I will tell you why,

My grandson has lately taken an interest in drawing and art,

He is six years old and has a lot of talent and is very smart,

I decided it was time for us to go and have a little date,

So, I signed us up for a painting class, and I couldn’t wait!

To see him on the stool with his apron and brush in hand,

He was a little artist, just like I had planned,

It was a parent/child class, and we were each painting a unicorn,

I was very impressed when he asked for gold to paint the uni-horn,

He chose his own colors without attempting to copy mine,

He had so much confidence in his own creative design,

I was more than proud of his ability to make his little “mistakes”,

Only “happy accidents”, as Bob Ross would do, for goodness’ sakes,

Now the masterpieces hang on my grandson’s bedroom wall,

He is growing up so fast and really getting tall,

In fact, he wouldn’t even fit in my car seat that I had,

So, we needed to borrow a ride from his mom and dad,

We had an enjoyable time and followed it up with a drive-through lunch,

This won’t be our last date; I already have a hunch.

Tammy Harvey

Written:  2/20/2023

Gobble Gobble

 

My FIRST Turkey Hunt

The alarm sounded at 3:30am on the morning of my first turkey hunt.  I hadn’t slept much anyway because of the excitement of this new adventure.  I arrived at my son’s house at 3:50, and he was already packed up and waiting in his car for me.  I was dressed in layers of clothing and a pair of rainboots with a hat and a hood pulled up over it.  It was April 26, 2023, and on this date 4 years prior my son had killed his first turkey.  It was a special date because it would have been my husband’s 65th Birthday today.  It was an hour and a half drive to our destination.  The traffic was surprisingly heavier than I expected for an early morning trip.  I didn’t nod off at all, although my son suggested I lay the seat back and sleep.  The anticipation was keeping my adrenaline flowing, and I was unusually awake and alert.  We got off the interstate at some point and traveled narrow and winding back roads. 

At last, we arrived and pulled off onto the edge of the road next to a long pole gate blocking a wide gravel entrance.  It was pitch black.  I literally could not see my son in front of me.  He chose not to use any flashlight, but he had been down this path many times and knew exactly where he was going.  A few yards in, he stopped and said he needed to load his gun in case we encountered a bear.  I wasn’t sure if he was joking or not, but I said that I thought I might need to wait in the car.  He reassured me not to be afraid, so we journeyed on.  The only sound at this point was the footsteps ahead of me.  He walked confidently and rapidly into the night.  I, like a baby duck following his mama, did my best to keep up.  After my eyes had adjusted to the darkness, I could see a slight shadow of his existence ahead of me.  We walked much further than I had anticipated before he took a slight right into the grassy field.  There were two chairs and some decoys lying on the ground, but the blind was not there where he had left it.  He immediately decided it had blown away and proceeded to look around the area for it.  I just froze in the spot next to the chairs.  Luckily, it was within a minute that he came back carrying the tent-like structure over his head.  He carefully positioned it over the chairs, and we proceeded to settle in. He took one of the decoys out about 100 ft and placed it in the clearing.  The whippoorwills began to break the silence.

He had prepared me on the drive by telling me about the order in which the forest would wake up.  It was fascinating to experience this phenomenon.  The whippoorwills were first, and their sound was mesmerizing. This was the only sound for a while.  Shortly, the owl calls began to join in.  Their “who cooks for you” hooting echoed in the night.  This duo of sounds was followed by sounds of traffic on the road around 6 am.  Next, songbirds were awake and began singing their morning songs.  The horizon started to lighten up with the impending sunrise.  A few dogs could be heard barking in the distance.  The morning doves began cooing the familiar sound that is so soothing and delightful.  This symphony was glorious but not over yet, the rat-a-tat-tat of woodpeckers joined in the ensemble along with the caw of a few crows.  This experience was worth the trip even if we never heard a turkey.  But the first gobble came at about 6:15 am.  In fact, there were two of them gobbling from two different directions.  My son was patient and methodical as he proceeded to use a striker call to mimic the mock fly down.  He would initiate a call then wait a good five minutes before calling again.  The response gobble would follow, and we were encouraged that we had a turkey or turkeys on the ground in the distance.  One was down in the swampy area, and one was beyond the cutover.  The idea was to coax him to us.  Time passed.  He seemed to be getting closer, but he would need to traverse an overgrown area that it seemed he would not cross. My son used both a box call and his striker call.  It was fascinating.

At 8:30, we decided to leave the blind and walk down to the swampy area to see if we could find the turkey.  When we left the blind, we saw deer tracks in the mud just in front of us.  As we walked, my son would stop periodically and give a short call and wait.  No response.  We got down to the standing water, but no turkey.  Along this path were beautiful patches of purple wildflowers, and we stumbled upon numerous piles of scat which my son said were coyote feces.  The dew was heavy on the vegetation.  It glistened in the sunshine and illuminated all the wet spider webs that were built in the grass.  The blackberry vines were heavy with white blooms. We walked back to the blind and decided to move it to a location on the other side of the cutover.  I carried the small chair and the three decoys.  My son hoisted the blind over his head, and we traveled down the same road we had entered in the black of night earlier.  About halfway back to the car, we came to the spot.  We set up again in the blind and waited.  The process continued.  No talking.  No sudden movement.  No rustling of the feet.  Just sitting, calling and waiting for a response.  He said we would give it until 10 am, then head out.  It was a beautiful day, not too hot.  I enjoyed just sitting there taking in the beauty and sounds of nature.  My son said that most people think the forest is quiet, but it actually it is bursting with the sound of different wildlife. 

When we decided to head back to the car, I was not too disappointed that we never saw a turkey.  After all, we did hear them gobbling.  On the way home, we passed a forest of public land that had just been burned.  We pulled in and he made a few calls with no luck.  Then we visited a property newly purchased by the state.  It was a beautiful meadow surrounded by forest.  The ground was covered in places with beautiful mosses of all varieties.  The meadow was yellow with wild buttercups and dandelions.  It appeared to have been an old soybean field.  We walked through this field and just observed the grandeur of it all.  A few doves were flushed out as my son walked along.  I kept trailing behind taking photos.  We saw several abandoned deer stands, and occasionally we’d stop, and he’d call, but again no turkey response.

 My adventure felt complete even without the prize of a turkey because I was with my son making memories.  It was an experience I will never forget.  My son, my nature guide, my protector against bears, my inspiration had privileged me by letting me into his hunting world.  I was honored to have had the opportunity.  At 63 years old, my intention is to make as many memories as possible doing special things with special people.

Tammy Harvey

4/27/2023