(for you history buffs) I was 7 living in Yakima Washington. It was Sunday. I remember getting ready to go to church like we always did. I remember thinking how weird is it that it's still dark outside. My dad told my brother to go outside and lock the doors on the car. When he came in there were drops of what looked like snow all over his blue suit--I remember thinking, "that can't be right." My dad then shut the door and told us not to go outside. My mom then proceeded to fill up the bathtubs, and sinks with water. Mt. St. Helens located 123 miles away had erupted:
I remember being afraid because I didn't understand. Once the darkness cleared there were banks of ash piled up on the side of the road like snow. One story that I vividly remember was of a man who WOULD NOT leave the area and eventually died. His name was Harry R. Truman. My dad got up on the roof of our house with a hose and washed it down so the weight wouldn't cause a collapse. Because of that exposure it made him severely sick and within a year we moved to AZ. My mother kept sealed bags of the ash, it fascinated me to think that it had some from a live volcano.
Whenever this date rolls around, I ALWAYS remember that day.
2 comments:
That is an amazing story. It is neat to be part of history.
Wow, this is powerful stuff!
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