When Grass Attacks
I spent the afternoon today hiking the Big
Laguna Trail on Mount Laguna. The vistas were
gorgeous. White and yellow wildflowers speckled
rolling pastures of green grass. Scores of
pinecones littered the ground underneath countless
pine trees. Occasional puffy white clouds broke up
the electric blue expanse of the sky.
Many others enjoyed the same sights. Mountain
bikers regularly passed us by on the trail. We in
turn passed several hikers who had stopped for a
picnic on the rocks underneath the pine trees. A
trio of horseback riders even rode by at one
point.
As I strolled through this pretty scenery,
however, my head felt ready to explode in a shower
of pollen and mucous like a grisly dandelion. From
the moment we arrived in the mountains, my eyes
started itching and swelling up. Shortly
thereafter, the nose and sinuses flooded and backed
up. My throat became as raw as a cat’s
scratching post.
Words like “rhinitis,”
“conjunctivitis” and
“pollinosis,” only recently learned,
leapt to mind. I immediately popped a Claritin, but
at over $1 per pill, it had as much effect as a cup
of water tossed on a blazing building. Movement
seemed to help, so the hike was a welcome
diversion. But we ended up cutting our camping
excursion short and returning to the June
Gloom.
When I was a child, I was allergic to grass,
among other things. My condition was serious enough
to warrant monthly allergy shots, a less than
pleasurable activity for a seven-year-old. I
distinctly remember my mother trying to get me into
the car to take me for my first shot. It was the
only time I ever ran away from home. She chased me
in the car for blocks and blocks before cornering
me in a vacant lot, the back side of which ended in
a cliff overlooking a canyon.
After several years of the shots, my allergies
subsided, and have never reappeared—until a
few years ago. It seems like grass has once again
become my nemesis. I wasn’t quite sure what it
was until this weekend. Setting up my tent in the
middle of a grassy pasture had the net effect of
striking a match in an ammo dump. The experience
left little doubt about the cause of my regular
allergy attacks of the past few springs.
So it looks like it’s time once again to
get allergy treatments. Whether shots will be
necessary, I don’t know, but if so, I’ll
be running as fast as I can to the
doctor’s office, not away from it.
©2003 Michael
Strickland ALL RIGHTS
RESERVED
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