News reports of the eruption left many people with the idea that the whole state was blown off the map. I received several calls (at our motel in Spokane) from people wanting to know if it was safe to come to Washington, or if there was anything left.

One Canadian family came with large fruit jars, wanting to know how far it was to Mount St. Helens. They wanted to go over there to pick up some ash.

I said it was a day's ride away, and was closed to the public. They were happy with what I sold them.

For the several months, people were selling mugs, ashtrays and anything else you could think of, made out of St. Helens ash.

-- Candy Adams, Federal Way

I was in a softball tournament in Olympia. It was a tie ballgame in the bottom of the seventh inning, runner at second, two outs, and I had a three-ball, two-strike count.

The next pitch was outside; I was going to swing at it to make sure I wouldn't strike out and make a fool of myself, but it was far enough outside that I let it go.

I waited and waited for the call, turned around and snapped at the umpire, "What's the call?"

He replied, "I don't know, I wasn't watching -- look at that!"

There was a black, billowing cloud in the distance over center field. We all stopped and watched, wondering what the heck was that?

The pitcher, who was not as fascinated as the rest of us, demanded to know what the call was. The umpire said to pitch it again. I proceeded to get a hit, and we won the game.

-- Jack Feeney, Olympia

I was working that Sunday morning on the Washington edition of Fishing & Hunting News. Early in the shift, copy editor Roland Stephan ran into the newsroom declaring, "Dave, Mount St. Helens has exploded!"

About a half-hour later, Roland was back, exclaiming, "Dave, Spirit Lake has been destroyed!"

A couple of weeks before that, I'd actually done a story on the "worst-case scenario" . . . while others, including many scientists, seemed to be downplaying the possibility.

I remember taking some verbal jabs from other print guys about that "hysterical" story.

It was one of those times I was right when I wish I hadn't been.

-- Dave Workman, North Bend

We were attending the Washington State Convention of Letter Carriers in Spokane. At about 11 a.m., we boarded our charter bus, and the driver informed us we could not go back to Seattle on Interstate 90. It was closed, so we took U.S. Highway 2.

At 1 p.m., the sky to the west was a solid pitch-black, covering about one-half of a very clean, blue sky. We started to get worried.

The farther west we traveled, the blacker the sky. Sheriff's deputies tried to stop us, but our driver insisted he had everything under control. On and on we traveled, sometimes as slow as 5 mph. The volcanic ash was falling like snow. One of our letter-carrier delegates described it as the "black pits of hell."

We finally got home (and later) heard the courageous driver was fired from his job.

-- Chuck Heib, Seattle

We'd been hearing for weeks or longer that it was any day now that the mountain would erupt. Everyone was becoming jaded to the reports of "any time now."

I had just started to drive onto the overpass (over Valley Freeway) and there it was. It was almost like a motion picture or, more accurately, a painting. There was such a surreal feel to it all, it was like watching the end of the world coming slowly and you could do nothing but watch.

Once drivers noticed all the people watching from the road shoulders, they pulled over and hardly anyone was moving on the streets in Auburn. Everyone just stared with their mouths open in shock. I was late for work because I just couldn't pull myself away from the sight. You could feel the tension/excitement that rolled off everyone. It was so thick in the air that I could almost reach out with my hand and grab ahold of it.

-- Lee Harris, Kent

The cloud (moving toward Yakima) was laden with violent thunder and lightning and the sour smell of sulfur. Moments later, the cloud had taken over the entire sky, and the heavy ash began to rain down, heavy like sand . . . gritty. The thunder and lightning was terrifying, there was so much of it and so close at times. That sunny morning turned to darkness, and just for a moment I recalled Mount Vesuvius with the same cataclysmic action. It was frightening to think this could possibly be our fate as well.

We tried to make light of it because we didn't want to frighten the kids, but we all had that scary feeling in the pit of our stomachs.

The emergency systems were unprepared for what was about to take place during the next week. The ash paralyzed the entire area. In a matter of hours, the roads were covered with several inches of what was now ash that resembled talcum powder. Each step created its own little cloud.

The next 24 hours were the most difficult. The buildup on our flat roofs became dangerously heavy. Men with snow shovels began clearing the barn roof of the heavy stuff. It was totally dark and very difficult to see more than a foot or two in front of you. The ash was choking so we wore surgery masks and cloths over our noses and mouths whenever we were outside.

All the highways in and out of Yakima and Kittitas (counties) were closed, and the entire downtown of Yakima was shut down. People were desperate to hear from the authorities. Orchardists didn't know what to do with their trees, ranchers didn't know what to do for their cattle, and of course, the ash devastated the hay and grain crops. There was total confusion.

The next morning after the ash had settled and light prevailed, we could see for the first time the eerie, pale gray landscape . . . almost dreamlike.

-- Patricia Nesland, Seattle

The thing I remember most is crossing the Toutle River Bridge and seeing the remnants of the mudflow that had crept up to the outside northbound lane (of Interstate 5). The drop from the highway is about 15 to 20 feet down to the level of the valley and another 20-some feet down to the riverbed, and at one time it was full right to the brim with the mudflow.

-- Michael Broderick, Redmond

Our third child was conceived. Named Ashlee.

-- Anonymous