The Day the Mountain Exploded
As I sit Here in Quarantine, 40 Years Later, I think of my Mother
It seemed like a normal day, a typical Sunday in our household. After breakfast, my mother and I headed to the fabric store, I was working on making a skirt and jacket from a pattern I had gotten from one of my sisters. The day had started out bright and sunny, but we noticed the clouds coming in as we entered the store.
We happened to run into our weatherman, Bob Soper, who worked with my sister at the local TV station. “Hey Bob, I thought it was supposed to be sunny today!” He shrugged his shoulders and said, “It might be coming from the explosion at Mount St. Helens, but I doubt that it would get this far.” We spoke a few more pleasantries and went on our way.
When we got home, my mother convinced me to make dinner that afternoon. We usually ate early on Sundays. I went outside to start the grill, then seasoned the chicken. By the time I finished grilling the chicken, the sky was starting to darken. I was worried that it might start raining.
Around 3:30, the sheriff was on TV. The explosion at Mount St. Helens was sending ash clouds in our direction. By 4:00 the sky was pitch black and when we opened the garage door, we could see ash falling from the sky. Not knowing whether it was safe to breathe or not, we quickly went back inside. My parents remained calm, but the anxiety began to be palpable as we finished our meal with the TV news on.
That evening the authorities told us to remain in our homes. It wasn’t possible to drive in any case; the ash was too thick and was likely to damage car engines. My mind raced, what did this mean, how much ash would we get, and what if there was no school tomorrow? How would I train for the city track meet that was coming up next week?
The next day came and although the skies were brighter, a thick layer of ash covered everything. There would be no school for at least a few days. We were stuck indoors, and it wasn’t clear how long we had to stay inside. I worked on my sewing projects, completing an entire suit in a day.
By the end of the week, it had rained, snowplows had come through and pushed as much ash as possible off the streets. Cars could be driven, but air filters had to be cleaned after every outing. My mother went to three different fire houses and grabbed as many masks as she could get. We didn’t know if there would be another eruption headed our way.
When we were finally released from sheltering at home, my heart was broken. We were heading back to school, but the city track meet had been cancelled. I wouldn’t get the chance to run and try to make it to the state meet. The coaches had gotten together and decided that the seniors should get to go, a lowly freshman would have her chance in future years. I know now that we had faced an existential crisis, but my only thought was of my lost opportunity.
As I sit here in quarantine, 40 years later, I think of my mother, hoarding masks, and the uncertainty that surrounded that time. We are always on the precipice — and we never know when the next existential crisis will come. One day it was a volcano, another day it was an earthquake. There is no real preparation for these events, but I will always remember the impact they had on my heart.
Terri E. Givens
CEO/Founder The Center for Higher Education Leadership
