If it weren’t for all the trees, I could probably see the peak from my house. On clear days, I do see it as I drive into town. Those of you who are old enough probably remember the eruption of Mount Saint Helens, forty-six years ago this week. I certainly do. I had just completed four years in the Navy and returned home with my British wife, Lorraine, and infant son. I rented a house in town and got a job.
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