On Christmas morning my family stood looking out onto the deck where my father, in full personal protective regalia, opened a gift for my mother. After shedding the wrapping, he held two beautifully woven wreathes up at arms length and smiled proudly.
These wreaths were handcrafted by Dad D. When out at Cape Cod this fall he picked some vines from the yard and skillfully wove them into two ~14inch (~350mm) diameter wreaths. Shortly thereafter, he learned that there was something special about this present. Those vines were poison ivy vines.
Dad D’s hands and wrists broke into hives shortly after constructing the wreaths. At first, he didn’t suspect anything bad but after his second instance of handling, and the accompanying itchy rashes, he suspected the worst.
And now the wreaths hang, beautifully dangerous, far enough from the path to prevent accidental touching. Twas a Christmas to remember!