Like losing a childhood friend

I was in grade school living in Damascus, Ore., the time that Mount St. Helens erupted. I distinctly remember sitting at the breakfast table every morning looking at the peak of Mount St. Helens visible above the hills that separated Damascus from the Columbia River.

It was like a friend that I would share my morning meal with.

One morning I sat down to a bowl of cereal, and my friend was replaced by a mushroom cloud.

Normal childhood fear and curiosity made the morning and the next few days very interesting. I remember also being sent home from school early that day due to the ashfall that accumulated over an inch in some places, and the mad rush at local hardware stores for dust masks.

I also eerily recall the darkness in the middle of the day as the ash blocked the sun and covered the landscape with dark blanket.

From that day forward, I would look to the north from my familiar seat at the table and Mount St. Helens was no longer visible. The mountains in the foreground blocked my view of the remaining part of the mountain. It wasn’t until many years later, when I moved to Vancouver, where I can easily see what I still tend to call my old friend.