“Storms make trees take deeper roots” ~ Claude McDonald

Outside, the skies are turning a murky gray color and I can see lightning in the distance. The weatherman on the television is quietly droning on about a big storm approaching. I am warm and dry inside at my computer working on a homework assignment, so I tune out what he is saying. All of the sudden, my ears perk up when I hear the newscaster say the words, “Yellowstone Caldera Supervolcano eruption is imminent, take shelter immediately.”  I realize I should have been paying closer attention to the news lately, but I have been so busy, I have not had time. I frantically open up a paper I wrote about the Yellowstone Caldera when I was a freshman to see what the eruption zone looks like. I find the paper and see that the zone of total destruction is bigger than I remember. The whole United States could be obliterated if the supervolcano erupted.

All of the sudden I feel the ground shake violently beneath my wheelchair and that is the last thing I remember. I wake up but my perspective is different.  I am no longer in my room but am looking down at the Earth as a giant cloud of black ash slowly rises up from the area that used to be Yellowstone National Park. The cloud moves simultaneously east and west enveloping the globe. I have never heard about something like this happening before -- weather moving in both directions at one time. I see people trying in vain to escape the ash. Soon they realize that they have no choice but to inhale the ash. The millions of casualties across the globe continue. I am struck with the morbid thought wondering if this is how the people of Pompeii felt when Mount Vesuvius erupted so long ago. I have to turn away from watching the destruction.  I am not sure how much time passes when I look down again, but when I do, the Earth is quiet and covered in a thick blanket of ash.  If I did not know what had happened, I would think it looked beautiful, like looking out the window when the sun comes out after a snowstorm.   

Time has no meaning where I am, it could have been hours or tens of thousands of years, but I have had a lot of time to reflect on everything I learned. One thing I remember learning is that volcanic ash is extremely fertile. I watch the Earth, waiting to see if something amazing happens. It has been raining a lot and the ash has been compacted to look like soil. Finally, I see it, a small bright green shoot poking out of the ash.  Slowly, one shoot becomes two, then three, then four until an entire area is covered in what looks like grass. I am amazed by nature’s resilience. Steadily, nature reclaims the Earth.  The entire planet is covered in a blanket of lush, green grass. 

I gaze back at where the first blade of grass appeared and see a pop of purple in the sea of green. A flower! Soon I see a rainbow of colors spread throughout the green. Among this new sea of color, I spot the slightest movement, more than a gentle breeze. I zoom in on the movement, seeing a light brown autotroph walking on its own. Suddenly, a sea of them are out, quickly marching across the field of grass like little trees advancing toward the bright blue ocean.  I think back on all that has happened and realize that the saying is true, “storms make trees take deeper roots.”