Ring of Fire

Every evening when I crest the ridge going home, I see the conical shape of Mt. Redoubt. From this angle it reminds me of Mt. Rainier, which loomed over the topography of my childhood in Puget Sound. 

I've spent my life on the Ring of Fire. 

Earthquakes and volcanic eruptions are a fact of life. Shortly before we moved to Homer, the area was dusted with volcanic ash during an eruption of Mt. Augustine. Several years later, we awoke one morning to find a quarter-inch of gray ash covering the February snow, courtesy of Mt. Redoubt. The folks who lived on Diamond Ridge got a spectacular show. Another couple of years passed, and in the mid-1990s I stepped outside one evening to listen to the sound of distant thunder. I scanned the horizon but the sky was clear of dark cumulus. I listened more closely to the muted roar, then went inside and called Kat and Larry. 

 “Hey, is Anchor Point under attack? I keep hearing these booming noises.” 

 “They said something on the radio about Mt. Spurr erupting....” 

 “Oh, wow...” 

 I drove over to their place, noticing along the way a long streamer cloud extending off to the northwest. Some type of particles were falling from it, back-lit by the sun. From Kat & Lar's roof, we watched the volcanic cloud move down the Inlet. These eruptions impress the residents of our area, but I'm sure the folks out on the Aleutians would be nonplussed. They live in one of the most active volcanic zones in the world and we get frequent flight advisories for volcanic ash out that way. The graceful conical shapes that dominate our landscape remind us that we live along the Ring of Fire. 

The earth is in motion and the tranquility of those snow-capped peaks is an illusion.