It seems like such a long time ago now. I was just short of being a teenager, and I remember the Sunday began sunny in Washington State's Yakima Valley. I recall on the drive out to West Valley to pick up two children for church that I remarked that the clouds reminded me of an upside down egg carton. They looked very peculiar.
Some time later, about the time my grandfather was finishing a Sunday school lesson on the book of Revelation (entertaining timing for years to come), we noticed it was growing dark outside. Someone must have caught the news report on the radio; it was the first we had heard of the eruption. I remember we drove home in the dark with the headlights on through the gently falling ash, which sounded something like whispering from inside the car.
The two girls we took to church had to shelter with us, as the roads were not considered safe. (The two girls were Shannon and Mora McGowan. Tragically, Mora committed suicide in Portland in 1998. All I remember is that she was a bubbly and happy reader.). An hour or two later, sometime in the early afternoon, I ventured outside for a few minutes. I remember it was still like night. I don't believe that the sun began to break through until close to sunset.
According to news reports, a number of roofs collapsed as a result of the ash fall, and machinery also broke down across the valley. Some farmers said that the ash produced better crops, while others swore the opposite; it depended on with whom you spoke.
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