One of the things I like about fall around Myrtle Point is that the poison oak turns a deep and lustrous red. This makes it much easier to avoid. The rest of the year it is harder to see. But because I get it easily and “get it bad”, I have, over many years, learned to see it and avoid it in all seasons.
Poison oak comes in several forms. Sometimes it is a free-standing bush on a hillside, but it can also be a vine wrapped around the trunk of the tree. If, however, there isn’t much light getting to it, the poison oak can be a low shrub on the forest floor. In the spring it is a lush green color, but a little darker shade of green than most the other bushes. In winter its gray twigs will stand out as unusually smooth compared to other brambles.
Knowing where it is likely to grow (probable habitat) is as important as training the eye to see it. Birds eat the white berries of poison oak so the seeds are dropped wherever birds frequently perch—under telephone wires and fence lines. It is rare in deep forests, but huge twining vines of poison oak may have grown up with the second growth in an area that has been logged. Around here, you do not want to swing on the vines.
Because birds also eat blackberries and poop out the seeds, poison oak is often found in the berry patches. I have learned to look carefully for “leaves with a thumb” before reaching for a plump berry.
I have had some bad cases of poison oak. In great misery I sat through my hot and sweaty 8th grade graduation with poison oak on my face and legs. I once missed a couple weeks of school because my eyes had swollen shut from it. Home from college, I wandered, while wearing shorts, through some poison oak and ended up with crusty, running blisters covering both legs.
These experiences have motivated the expertise I now have in avoiding poison oak. But I also have fresher memories of my boys getting into it and have even had a relative go the hospital after roasting hot dogs on sticks cut from poison oak in the dark. The consequences of poison oak are ever before me.
Even so, it is nearly impossible to avoid all contact with it in this area if one gets out into the woods much. I, therefore, have developed disciplines that protect me. I wear long pants when in the woods, don’t touch my face, wipe sweat with a bandana, touch only the top of my hiking stick, and don’t grab bushes to help myself up a hill. I also take great care while urinating in the woods. Once I’m home, the dog is bathed and hiking clothes are carefully placed in the wash.
The result is that I seldom get poison oak and haven’t had a bad case for many years. However, lest I think I have developed some immunity to it, I did get a mild case a few years back while just watching. My neighbor across the street was taking out a poison oak infested hedge. From the edge of our driveway, I watched the brush hog chew up the hedge and turn it into chips. Evidently, the sap from the poison oak drifted on the wind because the next day my neck and face had small blisters.
My progress with poison oak parallels my progress with sin. I have had some bad cases and seen other bad ones that taught my heart to hate my sin. My maturing in holiness has had less to do with being zapped holy and more to do with learning to see and avoid sin. I have learned to avoid the places where I will encounter temptation. Through different seasons and cultural shifts (the Internet?) I have, with practice, learned to identify sin. My experience with poison oak helps me understand the definition of maturity in Hebrews 5:14: as those “who because of practice have their senses trained to discern good and evil.”
I come from a Christian tradition that emphasized trips to the altar more than “practice” and training. Lectures on poison oak are not as helpful as long hikes with someone who has learned to identify it. I think the same is true regarding sin. I am sure that my boys tired of me pointing out poison oak on the hikes we took together, but I am convinced that learning to walk in holiness requires the labor intensive work of discipleship—long hikes together.
