The year 1980 started out with a bang for us - a very big bang! Beginning in late March, Mt. St. Helens - one of the Cascade volcanoes we can see from our Mount Tabor home - began to act up, with many small earthquakes and occasional plumes of ash and smoke. None of the Cascade peaks are considered "dead" volcanoes - just dormant, until they aren't - and many of them have produced occasional rumbles over the years. In the 20th century, however, Mt. Lassen in northern California in 1914 had been the only one to really erupt.
Our mountain continued to rumble, grumble and shake through April and into May. The scientists watched it carefully but, in a lot of ways, it was just doing what our volcanoes do, and they didn't want to be accused of "crying wolf" if nothing happened. Similarly, the Forest Service and other government organizations didn't want to do anything that might cause undue panic. Control around the mountain was gradually increased, and finally the recommendation was made to people living near St Helens that they probably should evacuate. It still didn't seem really real.
Then, about 8:30 in the morning on Sunday, May 18, St. Helens blew, tearing one whole side out of the mountain, and sending smoke, ash, and pulverized rock 18,000 feet into the air, in what looked from our house like the largest atomic bomb blast imaginable. It wasn't a lava event, but all the melting snow and glacier ice roared down the west-draining rivers, washing out land, roads and bridges all the way to the Interstate running from Portland to Seattle. The evacuation had been complete enough that few human lives were lost, those mainly residents who wouldn't leave, and scientists who didn't get out in time.
In Portland, our main problem was ash coating everything. It got into auto filters, clogging them so cars wouldn't run. The air was unhealthful for just about everybody, but especially those with respiratory problems.
For a couple of months after the big blow, the mountain continued to have smaller eruptions. If we didn't actually see these later events, coming outside to a world as white with ash as if we'd had snow was a graphic reminder.
A few years later, after the mountain was calm again, a road was built up to its eastern rim. We drove up a couple of times. The devastation was amazing, of course, but the scene that sticks in my mind is of hundreds of acres of downed trees, all lying in the same direction - the way the blast had toppled whole forests.
I can still see St. Helens from our home. It is no longer a lovely cone-shaped peak. Instead, it's kind of a long ridge. They say it's 1,000 feet lower than it was before the eruption. I know we can now see most of Mt. Rainier beyond it. Before the eruption, we could only peek at it around the side of St. Helens.
***
For family fun, we used to do what Chuck and Greg had started at the refuge - reading stories out of the newspapers to one another. We'd divide whatever papers we had among the four of us, and then share whatever caught our attention. Sometimes, there would be discussion of an article. A lot of times it was just "who's next?"
I remember one session in particular because Vic started laughing at something she had read. I asked her about it. She said it reminded her of a discussion she and Greg had many years before. Mandy asked for details. Vic showed the paper to Greg, and asked if it was okay with him. It was.
The story in the paper was about an Oklahoma town that had decided to permit a high school dance. They hadn't allowed dances in the past. The decision was far from unanimous, the concern being that boys and girls shouldn't get that close to one another. One dissenter opined that the only reasons men came to dances were "women and booze." Another citizen warned of a surge in pregnancies because that's what happened when boys and girls "breathed in each other's ears." A local pastor said folks can believe what they want, but "when boys and girls hold each other, they get sexually aroused."
Relating this to Vic's memory, she and Greg were having one of their morning porch-step discussions, that time about religion. Greg had commented on the Mormon prohibition against drinking coffee and colas, presumably because the caffeine was bad for you. He noted that there were hundreds of things we ate and drank that weren't good for us. Why had the Mormons picked on coffee? (He didn't know, and I still don't). Then, he got on the churches that prohibited their members from dancing. He thought - like the pastor quoted in the article - that it was because dancing close together led to lustful thoughts. Greg didn't deny that, but said that most of the lustful thoughts had been there before the dance began. At that point, Vic had interrupted him.
"What I said was just sort of teasing him, but I really didn't know much about how the evils of dancing worked. We were at the point in our relationship that I began to think about such things, so I asked him: 'If you danced with me, would you have lustful thoughts that were already there?' His immediate and straightforward reply really surprised me."
"What did he say?" Mandy asked.
"He said that he thought it was very likely he would have lustful thoughts when we started dancing. Then he said he was pretty sure more lustful thoughts would develop as we danced, if we were dancing close together."
"Just like the pastor warned!" Mandy exclaimed. "How did you respond?"
Greg replied. "As I recall, she said something like, 'Oh, that's interesting.'"
***
There was sadness for us in 1980, too. In June, Greg's mother, Merry, died, of a fast-moving, inoperable cancer. She was 60. When first diagnosed, the doctors had predicted she probably had less than two weeks to live. Greg and Vic immediately loaded the kids in their car, and headed for California, hoping they would be in time.
When they arrived, they found Merry in bed, but propped up with a book, looking a little wan and weak, but not like she was dying. She greeted them as enthusiastically as her strength would allow, hugging her grand-kids, and regaling them with all the expected grandmotherly "my, how you've grown" talk. She tired quickly, but managed sincere, loving hugs for Greg and Vic. They left her to rest, and visited with Cliff, Cliff Jr., Janna, and her husband, Lee. Merry died that night.
Greg and Vic helped the family with a little immediate business, then brought the kids home. A week later, they left Charlie and Allie with us, and went back to Oakland for a memorial service.
Going quickly is probably best for the one dying, but to lose a loved one so quickly and so unexpectedly young is about the worst possible situation. Cliff was obviously at sea, but he had Cliff Jr. and Janna and her family close by. He had decided to stay in the family house, where he had a small machine shop in the backyard. That kept both his mind and his fingers busy.
Greg felt the loss strongly. He and Merry had always been close as parent and child, but (in the years after Greg recovered from his high school traumas, but before he was really an "adult") they had developed a candid adult-to-adult relationship. That she had taken so immediately and lovingly to Vic had sealed that deal for Greg.
Actually, Vic was maybe affected by Merry's death even more than Greg. They had been soulmates from the first time they met (actually, a little earlier, thanks to a silly introductory letter that Vic had sent to her and Cliff). Vic was never an "in-law" to Merry; she was one of her kids. Vic and Alice had all the years of loving family life together, but Merry was very close to a second "mom." They saw each other regularly over the years, and hardly a week went by that they weren't talking on the phone together.
***
The 1980s saw more family losses, as all four of Mandy's and Vic's grandparents passed away. Their losses weren't surprises, as all were in their 80s and 90s. We weren't able to get back to any of the funerals or gatherings, but there was plenty "family" there. (I hadn't realized how many brothers, sisters and cousins Alice and Chuck had, until we were back there in the midst of them.) We felt extremely fortunate to have seen the grandparents while all were still "hale and hearty" - and to have the four-generation photos to prove it!
In Oregon, our lives were going well. I was happy with my teaching, and made happier by being granted tenure and a full professorship. Greg's feelings about the government were still more positive than negative (although I think the balance got pretty close, at times). There still wasn't a logical time for Vic and Greg to start their own business, but Vic kept up the researching and planning, and was developing what seemed like a very logical course of action. Mandy kept us all together and sane with her superb household management.
***
TIME OUT! I don't like what I just wrote about my wonderful wife. It makes her sound like "just a housewife." In the first place, there is no "just a" in keeping a family and a household together. Anybody who takes on the job is a hero before they start. To do it well takes a lot more than knowing how to cook, and how to clean the bathroom.
Mandy loved all aspects of running our household. She knew before we married what she was getting into, and she wanted to get into it. As I think I've said before, she didn't do it on her own. We all pitched in on everything from cooking (although she was by far the best) to caring for the kids. We were a team, but she was clearly the team leader.
But that wasn't all there was to her. She was an active participant in every discussion (and argument!) we had among the four of us. She offered as much information, and made as many assertions and suggestions as any of us. She and Vic were always conniving on something, from homemaking to politics to civil rights.
I'm reminded of a conversation she and I had many years ago. She was telling me about bird-banding, and how they had used nets to capture birds. The nets were indiscriminating in what they caught, just whatever flew into them. It was fun, she said, to observe how the different species reacted to the capturing and subsequent handling. Some of the bigger birds, with sharp beaks and aggressive looks, would be surprisingly passive while you worked on them. Not so with the mountain chickadees.
Chickadees are smaller than sparrows. With a slim shape, a long tail, and elegant gray, black and white plumage, they look anything but dangerous. In the trees outside your window, they interact and "talk" freely, but seldom aggressively, to each other. Taken from a net, they are suddenly little demons. They wiggle, they call you names (well, they twitter, but you can guess what they're thinking and saying), and they jab at you with their little beaks. They can't really hurt you, but they can give your skin a good pinch. They were, by far, the most surprising species Mandy encountered.
She could be like those chickadees. She was certainly elegant in form and "plumage," and usually laid-back and communal in nature. She didn't have a dangerous look to her. But give her an injustice that needed to be corrected, a wrong that needed to be righted, or some aid that needed to be given, and her mountain chickadee persona could suddenly appear. She was a constant wonder and blessing to me.
***
In the 1990s, we watched as our younger generation grew up and branched out. We also saw the last of our older generation pass out of the picture.
By 1991, all four of our kids were in college. They took pity on us in their first years, with all starting at Portland State, living at home and commuting, and saving us the costs of dormitory living. Ginny and Charlie eventually moved to Corvallis, finding that Oregon State had more to offer that they wanted. Allie and Rich stayed at Portland State and lived at home throughout their college years.
You'll recall that Greg's mom, Merry, had died in 1980. Between 1992 and 1998, the other five of our parents passed on. All were in their upper '70s, so none of the losses were surprising. Thankfully, for them and for us, all went "gracefully" - no horrible illnesses, just gradual wearing out and misfunctioning of various body parts. None of the final illnesses were for more than a few days, and no one had suffered any signs of dementia. (This latter has always been a worry to me, as reading, writing, remembering and thinking make up "who I am.")
My dad went first, in 1992. Mom lived another year. She stayed in our family home, and Rich and Allie - both going to college nearby - moved in with her. It was a comfortable arrangement for all of them. I'm not sure she knew which of the two was her actual grandchild (Rich), but it didn't matter. She loved them both, and they loved her.
Cliff, Greg's dad, was next, in 1994. He had survived Merry by almost 15 years. He still lived in the house in Oakland where Greg had grown up. He had managed to keep himself active, with the help of his little machine shop in his backyard. Greg's brother, Cliff Jr., lived nearby, and with similar interests they did a lot together, Janna, Greg's sister, and her family were also in the neighborhood, so Cliff had been well taken care of.
Chuck and Alice, Mandy's and Vic's parents, had retired near Jamestown, North Dakota, and Cliff died at home there in 1997. The girls talked to Alice about moving to Oregon with us, but Alice was a North Dakotan through and through, plus most of her and Chuck's memories were there. She had dozen (sometimes, it seemed like hundreds!) of "cousins" to look out for her. She missed her girls and their families, but we (usually one or more of the girls) went back to see her often. She died in 1998.
Of necessity, that decade was dominated by travel and business related to deaths, funerals, wills, estates, and such, but it wasn't sad. Everybody who died was "old" (we might have expected some to live into their 80s), and all of the passings were "easy." We had stayed close enough to all of them that, while we missed them, we didn't feel that there had been any "unfinished business" between us.
The four of us, plus any kids who happened to be around, spent a lot of time together. But we always reserved some "just you and me, kid" weekends. As in the past, Vic and Greg usually went to their cabin on the coast. Mandy and I had often stayed in a hotel in Portland, but we began to escape to "the big city" - usually Seattle, but once in a while San Francisco. We didn't have to leave Portland for "culture" - Portland had just about everything Seattle could offer - movies, plays, concerts, famous speakers - and the four of us took full advantage. Still, it was fun and romantic to go somewhere, check into a fancy hotel, eat at a few better than average restaurants, and wear an extra pretty dress, and a sport coat and jacket, to whatever venue we chose.
Vic and Greg made one longer trip by themselves - in 1994, I think. About the time they got married, Vic had made up a wish list of things she'd like to see. It wasn't long: an ocean, redwood trees, saguaro cactuses, and the autumn foliage in New England. They had checked off ocean and redwoods. A trip to Tucson, Arizona, in July would let her see her saguaros, and also give Greg a chance to see some unusual birds that were found in the United States only in the mountains nearby.
They flew to Tucson, and rented a car. Saguaros were everywhere. These giant cactuses weren't as big or as old as redwoods, but they did pretty well for themselves. They could live over 150 years, and grow to heights of 50 feet or more. Vic wasn't disappointed.
From Tucson, they drove south into the mountains to a lodge well-known to bird-watchers. Every window in their cabin had hummingbird feeders hanging, and in no time they had seen six or eight species, all new to Greg. (We have only two species in Portland, and one only migrates through.) Unfortunately, that was almost all they saw.
Greg had purposely delayed their visit to early summer, because southeast Arizona spring was usually hot and quite dry. Bird nesting activity - including all the bird singing - didn't begin until the monsoon rains arrived, greening up the land and getting the creeks flowing. Unfortunately, the summer rains had not materialized, and it was very hot, dusty dry, and very silent. They enjoyed the hummingbirds, but came home two days earlier than planned.
***
I've mentioned that Greg and Vic had a long-term plan to develop a business.. Their interest in both civil rights and environmental problems led them to consider how effective (or ineffective) various techniques were when applied to those issues. They wanted to be able to help people make the most efficient and meaningful choices.
Vic had been researching for twenty years, gathering information, and discussing it with Greg. She had put together several work books on how to identify issues, how to get the best information about them, and how to best get to work on them. After further brainstorming with Greg, they decided to start testing their results.
Thinking that most people don't like to have their own ideas challenged (especially by people like Vic and Greg, who had no professional background!), Vic started to arrange "fact finding" visits. Most groups she was interested in working with had action committees of some sort, and she arranged to meet with them to get information for her own study. She did learn a lot, she said, but she also had the opportunity to gently inject some of her and Greg's thinking into the conversations. She gave me a couple of examples. She'd say something like "my husband arranges a lot of formal public hearings for the government. He doesn't think they really give people a chance to influence decisions, because the decisions are usually pretty much final by the time the government gets around to the public hearings. Have you been concerned about this?" Or another example: "When there are marches or other peaceful demonstrations, people with other agendas, or just plain trouble makers, join you. The news always seems to focus on them. How do you handle that?"
Through the '90s, she went to a lot of those kinds of meetings. Mandy sometimes went with her, as did Greg when he could. The plan was to get into the business full-time after Greg retired.
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