I’m here, talking to you about talking to rocks, partly because a volcano blew out sideways, and fifteen years later, I turned to look at another volcano I’d known my whole life and saw the same lateral eruption rip it apart thousands of years in the past. “What happened to me,” St. Helens said, “is exactly what happened to them. Your San Francisco Peaks were a peak before that day. Oh, and it would’ve been a really bad idea to stand where you’re standing now, what with the lahar and all.”
I just stood there with my jaw agape, looking from the lahar deposit to the gash in my beloved Peaks, sputtering the occasional overwhelmed expletive as the thrill of realization and the enormity of what had happened pinned me to ground that was perfectly safe for the geologic moment.
This is what I want to give you, my dear readers: the indescribable euphoria that comes from understanding a place for the very first time.