Wednesday, December 25, 2013
Yesterday, our first time on the beach, I met an elderly gentleman with some sort of cattle dog. My dog, Abby The Labby Number Nine, was giving the rather plump herding dog a hard time. I mentioned to the stranger that if we stayed long enough, his dog may shed a few pounds. He laughed.
I never did find out his name, but I did learn that he had moved to Florence six months ago. He moved from Grants Pass, Oregon after his doctor informed him that his life expectancy wasn’t going to be very long , but now that he moved to where the air was cleaner, his health had improved dramatically. I hadn’t realized that Grants Pass was hazardous. Hazardous enough for someone who has pulminary Fibrosis. Don’t quote me on that. I’m wondering if I am remembering this correctly or whether it just popped into my head.
I know that Eugene wouldn’t be on the list of places to move to if one had any breathing issues. I was told that the Native Americans called the Willamette Valley, the Valley of Sickness. I’ve seen plenty of people who have to vacate the area come Spring and Summer when the allergy season comes sweeping in.
Right now the Valley is experiencing inversions when the air doesn’t circulate and just lays there stagnate. Rules about burning are enforced, though there’s not much that can be done about burning for heat, but that doesn’t help the air quality any.