As requested, here's my story of the eruption of Mt.
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The cloud continues its march across the sky, blocking out the sun and dropping us into a pitch darkness deeper than the darkest night. The ash is falling heavily now, unable to see more than a few feet in front of the car, Dad slows to an achingly slow pace. We're still miles from home an hour at the pace we're going.
A fine dusting of ash starts to appear on the dashboard and dad tells us to pull our shirts up over our noses. Brian, my little brother, asks if we are going to die. Dad assures us we’ll be fine, we’ll be home soon.
He is lying, he’s seen what Mt. Vesuvius did to the people of Pompei and he can see us clutching each other in fear as the ash seals us for eternity. It'll be easier on us if we make it home first.
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A fine dusting of ash starts to appear on the dashboard and dad tells us to pull our shirts up over our noses. Brian, my little brother, asks if we are going to die. Dad assures us we’ll be fine, we’ll be home soon.
He is lying, he’s seen what Mt. Vesuvius did to the people of Pompei and he can see us clutching each other in fear as the ash seals us for eternity. It'll be easier on us if we make it home first.
We inch along the highway, hoping that we see any car stopped ahead of us, that we stay on the highway. Slowly, dim street lights emerge from the dark as we near the turn off for the back way home, fewer stop lights, fewer chances of rear ending someone. In darkness, we surely pass the strange three wheeled merry-go-round machine that tests radial tires for wear, and the barn that holds the cows with the windows on their sides so the veterinary students can learn anatomy, but we don’t see them.
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We inch along the highway, hoping that we see any car stopped ahead of us, that we stay on the highway. Slowly, dim street lights emerge from the dark as we near the turn off for the back way home, fewer stop lights, fewer chances of rear ending someone. In darkness, we surely pass the strange three wheeled merry-go-round machine that tests radial tires for wear, and the barn that holds the cows with the windows on their sides so the veterinary students can learn anatomy, but we don’t see them.
Turn right and we’re going past greenhouses, where in 10 years I’ll work my first job. They glow dimly through the ash. Right again past the coliseum, where we’d watch basketball games and later my sister and I would go for our graduations.
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Turn right and we’re going past greenhouses, where in 10 years I’ll work my first job. They glow dimly through the ash. Right again past the coliseum, where we’d watch basketball games and later my sister and I would go for our graduations.
Left onto our street past the ‘field’ a vacant lot owned by some neighbors who kept it as a community park where on 4th of July after gorging on potluck food, the big kids would light their illegal fireworks, purchased from the Indian reservations up north of town, and entertain us all.
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Left onto our street past the ‘field’ a vacant lot owned by some neighbors who kept it as a community park where on 4th of July after gorging on potluck food, the big kids would light their illegal fireworks, purchased from the Indian reservations up north of town, and entertain us all.
Home. Mom fusses over us, Dad heads out to pick up my sister who is trapped at someone’s house where she was preparing to go on her first girl scout camping trip. I take a bath, and get in my PJs, which everyone laughs at because it’s only 1pm.
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Home. Mom fusses over us, Dad heads out to pick up my sister who is trapped at someone’s house where she was preparing to go on her first girl scout camping trip. I take a bath, and get in my PJs, which everyone laughs at because it’s only 1pm.
The next day dawns to a different world. Everything is covered in a fine layer of ash. Radio and TV news casters broadcast instructions to deal with the ash-wash it off, wait that turns it into a cement that won’t come off, brush it off, it just billows back. The school year is cancelled, my sister will never go on her camping trip. For reasons that still remain mysterious, she is not allowed to join scouts the following year and I am never allowed to join.
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The next day dawns to a different world. Everything is covered in a fine layer of ash. Radio and TV news casters broadcast instructions to deal with the ash-wash it off, wait that turns it into a cement that won’t come off, brush it off, it just billows back. The school year is cancelled, my sister will never go on her camping trip. For reasons that still remain mysterious, she is not allowed to join scouts the following year and I am never allowed to join.
We wear stuffy masks outside for weeks. They stink like rubber and fresh paint. The gritty ash and tight bands leave red welts on my nose and cheeks. The whiteish ash gets everywhere. For years, people will find piles of it under decks or behind woodpiles.
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We wear stuffy masks outside for weeks. They stink like rubber and fresh paint. The gritty ash and tight bands leave red welts on my nose and cheeks. The whiteish ash gets everywhere. For years, people will find piles of it under decks or behind woodpiles.
My elementary school closes for good, something that had been planned for years, but with the cancelled school year, the school remains just like we left it. Years later my friends and I will break into the school and sort through the clay dinosaurs we’d made in art class and try to remember which one was ours.
The school will eventually be torn down to make low cost apartments for college students.
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My elementary school closes for good, something that had been planned for years, but with the cancelled school year, the school remains just like we left it. Years later my friends and I will break into the school and sort through the clay dinosaurs we’d made in art class and try to remember which one was ours.
The school will eventually be torn down to make low cost apartments for college students.
With the school closed, Dad will never coach soccer again, our new school is too far for him to pop over for practices. Although for decades when we talk about someone from our hometown, he will swear he coached that kid. In two years, dad will go on sabbatical in Southern California where he will meet my first step mom. A woman who deserved far more kindness and respect than my dad or the rest of our family gave her.
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With the school closed, Dad will never coach soccer again, our new school is too far for him to pop over for practices. Although for decades when we talk about someone from our hometown, he will swear he coached that kid. In two years, dad will go on sabbatical in Southern California where he will meet my first step mom. A woman who deserved far more kindness and respect than my dad or the rest of our family gave her.
I would continue to fish with Dad for several years, learning to fly fish, using a beloved bamboo fishing rod Dad made for me. Those are some of the best memories I have, clomping around with Dad in creeks in Idaho, coming back with tiny trout that I pretended to enjoy eating. We only stopped when he moved to Massachusetts my freshman year, setting off three years of custody battles.
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I would continue to fish with Dad for several years, learning to fly fish, using a beloved bamboo fishing rod Dad made for me. Those are some of the best memories I have, clomping around with Dad in creeks in Idaho, coming back with tiny trout that I pretended to enjoy eating. We only stopped when he moved to Massachusetts my freshman year, setting off three years of custody battles.
So that, my friends, is the story of the eruption Mt. St. Helens as seen in eastern Washington state where the ash fall was among the highest from the perspective of a seven year old who is now fifty-three.
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With the school closed, Dad will never coach soccer again, our new school is too far for him to pop over for practices. Although for decades when we talk about someone from our hometown, he will swear he coached that kid. In two years, dad will go on sabbatical in Southern California where he will meet my first step mom. A woman who deserved far more kindness and respect than my dad or the rest of our family gave her.
@MCDuncanLab this is the most compelling story I've read in ages!
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So that, my friends, is the story of the eruption Mt. St. Helens as seen in eastern Washington state where the ash fall was among the highest from the perspective of a seven year old who is now fifty-three.
Thank you so, so much. I could see and feel every moment of this.
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We inch along the highway, hoping that we see any car stopped ahead of us, that we stay on the highway. Slowly, dim street lights emerge from the dark as we near the turn off for the back way home, fewer stop lights, fewer chances of rear ending someone. In darkness, we surely pass the strange three wheeled merry-go-round machine that tests radial tires for wear, and the barn that holds the cows with the windows on their sides so the veterinary students can learn anatomy, but we don’t see them.
@MCDuncanLab I'm sorry, the cows that WHAT
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Thank you so, so much. I could see and feel every moment of this.
@Her_Doing @MCDuncanLab and the little flash forwards really helped make it real.
I do want to know what happened with the Girl Scout troop though.
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@MCDuncanLab I'm sorry, the cows that WHAT
Yeah, I never went to see them but it's a thing that they did at the vet school.
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So that, my friends, is the story of the eruption Mt. St. Helens as seen in eastern Washington state where the ash fall was among the highest from the perspective of a seven year old who is now fifty-three.
@MCDuncanLab Thank you so much for taking the time to write down these memories. I especially enjoyed how you intertwined your memory of the eruption with many of the other threads of your family history, that makes for quite a read!
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@Her_Doing @MCDuncanLab and the little flash forwards really helped make it real.
I do want to know what happened with the Girl Scout troop though.
Me too! (Although I am content to have this perfect story stay as is and just imagine the Girl Scout bit.
)But you did make every bit of this absolutely real. First-class storytelling.
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Me too! (Although I am content to have this perfect story stay as is and just imagine the Girl Scout bit.
)But you did make every bit of this absolutely real. First-class storytelling.
My sister and I asked my mom recently, she claims not to remember.
For all I know, it was the cost or that it was too hard to take my sister to weekly meetings.
We were absolutely latch-key kids even before my parents divorced.
My sister and I had to walk from CCD every Tuesday after school after stopping at home for a little snack. The church was about a mile away, which is kind of far for a 7 and 9 year old to walk, at least that's what I felt then.
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So that, my friends, is the story of the eruption Mt. St. Helens as seen in eastern Washington state where the ash fall was among the highest from the perspective of a seven year old who is now fifty-three.
This was incredible. Well done.
