Some days I am yellow and warm-hearted, living in tune to place and people, eyes opened, soul stirring, skin pricked, attached to nothing and everything.
It was 43 years ago, May 18, 1980 that Mount St. Helens blew its side out and killed at least 57 people. Dick Lasher was not one of them. If he had rounded the ridge not far ahead of him, he would have been caught in a wave of heat and ash and died. Thinking he was going to die, he took this photo of his red hatchback Pinto and motorcycle. It is an iconic shot. Lasher then turned around and drove, blinded most of the time by ash until he escaped the blast. Ironically he went back a few times trying to get more photos until he was arrested and jailed to protect him from harm. I imagine an event like this is overwhelming and really addictive. Robert Landsburg, a freelance photographer from Portland who often took photos of the volcano, was not so lucky. When he realized he was going to die, he rolled his film back up, put it in its case, then backpack, and finally on the backseat of his car where he laid on top of it to protect the photos he had taken of the blast. Seventeen days later, Landsburg was found in his car. He had died instantly in the pyroclastic cloud that engulfed the car and him. His film survived and has been published. David Johnston, a volcanologist, also died that May morning, after sending this message,"Vancouver, Vancouver, this is it!"
“Deep in their roots, all flowers keep the light.” — Theodore Roethke
"Those who prefer their principles over their happiness, they refuse to be happy outside the conditions they seem to have attached to their happiness. If they are happy by surprise, they find themselves disabled, unhappy to be deprived of their unhappiness."
— Albert Camus
