Searching for geocaches, my son and I took a hike in a lush wooded park. We sprayed insect repellant, pulled our socks up high, wore hats. My paranoid boy-scout husband gave strict warnings to avoid overgrown patches potentially hiding poisonous leaves. My son ignored him because a teenager obviously knows better. In the evening, I noted both his inner elbows had rashes. The next morning it spread to wrists, neck, chest, calves, feet. My eyes widened as I cringed at his inflamed skin. “It doesn’t even itch,” he rebuts as I wince at the many bright red, verticle scratch marks.