I'm visiting my sister in Dayton over the weekend. We were chatting about how many times we have called Poison Control. I've called twice--once when Zari dipper her finger in dish detergent, and another time when she got into a container of all-purpose nipple ointment. She's called six times. The last time was when her youngest ate a piece of cello rosin. Rosin is made from hardened pine sap; you rub it on the horsehair of a violin or cello bow to create more friction against the strings. Poison Control was stumped. Rosin was nowhere to be found in their databases. The woman on the phone commented, "and we've heard it all, so that's saying a lot!" They finally figured out that it shouldn't be too worrisome.
This reminded me of a tradition in my mom's side of the family--chewing pine gum. When I was growing up, we traveled west almost every summer to visit my grandparents in Utah and Idaho. Chewing pine gum was a rite of passage when we went on mountain hikes. You find a hardened, crystallized piece of pine sap and cut off a small chunk, about the size of a marble. Then you start chewing. It crumbles in your mouth, sticks to your teeth, and tastes like Pine-Sol. It's really terrible. You start salivating and so you spit and spit and spit for the next few minutes. Then, like magic, the crumbly sap turns into gum that tastes of alpine air and pine trees.
I'm definitely passing this tradition on to Zari.