Poison ivy is not nearly as much fun as the Brush Hog. But I got it. It's mine. You can't have it.
No, I didn't get it Brush Hogging. I didn't get it clearing the slope for apple trees. I didn't get it stump grinding, hiking, gardening, lifting or hauling.
I got it doing laundry. I guess I got some urushiol (the stuff that causes the allergic reaction) on my clothes. A couple of days later, I grabbed the laundry, getting some of the urushiol on my forearms.
So what does this have to do with leprosy? Being a nice Catholic girl who went to parochial school, I grew up with an inordinate fear of leprosy. So my first bout with poison ivy is causing me some serious flashbacks. I'm talking PTSD.
I can handle sore muscles, bruised limbs, mean rooster attacks, dead lambs, barking dogs and a whole variety of challenges that life on the farm can throw me. But skin disease - not so much. I'm not quite ready to give up life in the country, but if anything could do it, this would be it.