I remember being a little scared hearing the news of the eruption. I went out to our back yard (in Puyallup) and sat on our picnic table, looking around for signs of disaster.

I thought for sure the lava would come creeping through our trees at any moment. Our disaster amounted to a thin layer of ash blanketing everything.

My dad came home with dust masks for us to wear. I, of course, promptly put mine on, fearing an untimely death if I breathed even a speck of ash.

I kept recalling a family vacation we had taken years earlier up to St. Helens.

I had walked barefoot on a thin veil of snow covering the higher levels. For some reason, the exact moment I placed my foot down on the snow, while looking up at the looming mountain through the sunshine, stayed with me always.

I was sad it was gone, yet happy that I was able to enjoy some of its beauty up close before it went.

-- Jennifer Campain, Auburn

After the big eruption, I went with some other environmental reps on a "fact-finding" National Guard helicopter tour of the red zone. The helicopter dropped us down inside the north part of the red zone, where we had a firsthand, front-row view of the shattered cone still puffing out steam and smoke while we poked around the ash flow looking for anything green.

The National Guard helicopter decided that it needed to go and refuel, so off it went. . . . We waited, and we waited, and we waited some more. Hours passed, and we were looking over our shoulders at the belching mountain, wondering which would arrive first -- the helicopter or the next eruption.

Our congressional aide muttered something about reviewing the National Guard's helicopter budget. Finally, the helicopter showed up (it had had some refueling problems). We lifted off with no greater thanks than the Apollo astronauts did when they left the moon. The landscapes seemed about identical.

-- David E. Ortman, former director, Northwest Office of Friends of the Earth, Seattle

I was teaching first grade at St. Rose School in Longview.

After church, another teacher, Bev, and I drove over to Helena to watch it "blow." We heard on the radio that things were flowing down the Toutle River, so Bev and I went to the Bridge Bender Pub in Longview to watch the houses, trees and other debris flow by.

The first week the ash was going the other way, but the debris in the river knocked out the filter system for our water. We were encouraged to leave town to save water, and we had to keep our cars loaded to leave town immediately. The next week the ash came our way, and there could be no public gatherings. We wore masks and continually changed filters in our cars if we had to drive.

Some of us in the parish had taken youth groups up to Spirit Lake for retreats. We came to know Harry Truman, and his story remains in memory. It is unbelievable to think that a beautiful area . . . is no more.

-- Joan Campbell, Federal Way

By 2 in the afternoon, it was like midnight in Pullman; the street lights were on. There were civil patrol vans driving through neighborhoods announcing that we should all stay indoors. They were afraid that the ash could be caustic and burn our skin or lungs. Of course, most people stood outside and watched it anyway.

The next morning there was maybe three-quarters of an inch of pale gray powder on everything. The sky (was) the same color. That first day was interesting, but it got old real fast.

The dust seeped in everywhere. Your hair needed to be washed at least twice a day. Classes were canceled. The grocery stores ran out of milk and beer (beer being most critical), because delivery trucks couldn't get through.

-- Sheila & Mark Boyer, Seattle

We lived in Hazel Dell, about 30 miles as the crow flies from the crater.

My 6-year-old daughter woke us up and told us there was something bad happening. She'd been watching cartoons and they'd interrupted it. My wife and I went out the front door and saw . . . a magnificent sight. It was like an atom bomb going off on the top of St. Helens. I also noticed what I thought were rocks coming out of the top of the plume.

Later we read that these rocks were actually chunks of earth the size of a house, being thrown 60,000 feet in the air.

-- Randall Lovett, Tacoma

We were undecided about having children, but after being shut up in our house, unable to leave for a week, nine months later to the week, a son was born. He has journeyed back with us to the volcano every year to observe its change and growth, and compare it with his own.

-- Warren Segura, Auburn

I was at Grand Coulee Dam getting flowers. I heard the explosion. My sister said it's a sonic boom from the Air Force base. I said, "No way!"

I immediately started (toward Seattle) in complete darkness. (With the) ash on the highway, (it was) like driving on glass.

In 1980, George was a very small country town, dry and hot with one restaurant, one service station, not many people and some cattle. I made it to George's only service station (where the) operator contacted someone who got us in a school close by. There were about 300 of us.

We slept, when we could, with our heads on tables. The facilities were stopped-up (what a mess) from teenagers trying to wash ash from their hair. It turned to mud and stopped up the sinks.

The only restaurant in town served sandwiches until they ran out of food, then the community very graciously went to their freezers and gave us food.

Late the third day, the Sheriff's Office decided they had to get folks out of there. So with police cars rigged with contraptions to filter the ash, we drove in a caravan, very slow as to not kick up too much ash.

I got over my frightful experience after some time. After several hot baths and several shampoos, I got to thinking how very fortunate I was to be back in Seattle, unhurt.

My husband took my car down to get it cleaned up and the (car wash) owner offered him cash for it, as it was the first car back in Seattle after the eruption. I said "No way! That car saved my life!"

-- Mary E. Franssen, Des Moines The tide was low at Moclips and the razor clams were waiting. The digging was fantastic -- the clams seemed to spring to the surface.

(Later) we knew why the clamming was so great: The low tide and the eruption were at the same time -- the clams must have felt the vibrations.

-- Russ and Claudia Ramsey, Clinton

Being young, and compelled by wonder, we got in the car and decided we wanted a closer look. We drove to Elbe.

The State Patrol had the road blocked off (with an) officer standing there turning people around. The rim of his hat and his shoulders were covered in a half of an inch of ash. His once-white patrol car was now gray.

The sky had an odd look, and feel, that we had never seen before. I stood there mesmerized by the behavior of all the people. No one knew what they should do. I remember feeling small in the grand scheme of things.

-- Jon Field, Federal Way

On May 18, 1980, we lived in Yakima. I was up early, outside working in the garden. Off to the west, over the Cascades, I heard thunder and saw what appeared to be lightning flashes . . . the sky darkened and I felt what I thought was rain, but it was black sand.

Soon, everything turned pitch-dark and the electricity went off. Cars going past the house were kicking up dust. Then the phone went dead.

I tuned in the car radio and discovered the situation and its cause.

We had more than 1-1/2 inches of sand on our roof and driveway. Many low-pitched roofs in the area collapsed from the weight.

-- Bob Foland, Seattle

I worked for Pacific Northwest Bell as a long-distance operator, so off to work I went -- 12 to 15 hour days for a week.

The call I remember most was from a coin telephone, perhaps two days after the eruption. A man's voice said, 'Operator, I want to call home . . . I just walked out of the blast area . . . I'm alive . . . my family must think I am dead."

I dialed the number for him and announced a collect call. What joy and happiness in the voices of those gathered around the phone as the call was accepted: "He's alive!"

That one call made my day and the following days a lot easier.

-- Carolyn Bushell, Auburn

Most of all I remember the Doritos. We had bought a bag of Nacho Cheese Doritos just for a church picnic. I woke up the morning of May 18 to learn the picnic had been canceled.

Ash from the explosion covered Aberdeen like some kind of freak vacuum cleaner accident, and the overwhelming grayness seemed to continue throughout the sky. As the ash floated to earth, it had mixed with the ever present Grays Harbor drizzle, and we spent the morning playing with the resulting mud.

We picked it up and molded it into little shapes.

We packed it into film canisters to be tucked away into desk drawers.

We wrote words in it on the side of our VW van.

Later that day we sat under the eaves of the front porch and, despite the lack of a proper picnic setting, opened the bag of Doritos to commemorate the historic event.

-- Paul Thackray