It was a Sunday, I was 14 years old. We lived about 1/2 mile from where I live now in Buckley. My parents threw a “May Party” every year. Live band, clay pigeons, pig roast, 3 days and at the peak 500 people. People were hung over and some still sleeping. We were cooking pancakes as fast as we could. You could hear the low rumbling in the distance as the mountain blew. No one knew what happened. Then when a light ash started falling someone turned on the tv.
The next year we went dirt bike riding and fishing in the Potholes. The ash seemed like it was 6” deep. You had to clean your air filter all the time. It was unlike any normal dust. It had weight and was very fine. 43 years later I can’t even tell it happened, but know it’s just beneath the vegetation.
