I suspect that most people have a soft spot in their hearts for at least one geographical location. The place that draws me is the northwest corner of Wyoming.

I feel as if I know Yellowstone, but that Yellowstone also knows me. It’s something completely inexplicable and involuntary, like the desire to spend time in the embrace of a lover.

When it was ravaged by fire in 1988, I felt sick. When it rumbles with earthquakes, I hold my breath, wondering if the great caldera of the Yellowstone basin, the world’s largest super volcano, might collapse on itself or erupt with heretofore undocumented force.

Sometimes I will sit in my office for an hour or more watching a webcam trained on Old Faithful Geyser. While I wait, I might see a bison wander into the picture, or see a herd of elk trying to graze upon the first green blades of grass in the spring. I can’t imagine life without Yellowstone National Park.

I think this must be how millions of people who live along the Gulf of Mexico must feel. But there is another feeling overriding all others: helplessness. The news of the oil disaster not only challenges the scope of human understanding, but also there is no end in sight.

The Gulf Coast is a unique place of beaches, wetlands, neighborhoods, and bounty, and now the earth is hemorrhaging oil and suffocating the life of the land and the sea.

What can I do about it? I can donate to the effort, but since British Petroleum and other leaseholders of the damaged rig vow to pay for the cleanup, let them. Can they afford to reimburse each person whose life is forever changed by the gusher? Will they be solvent enough to clean beaches that will be fouled for years to come? Will they ever get it stopped?

I have heard people talking about boycotting BP. It’s a natural reaction, but this is not an election, and there is no political solution to the immediate problem. BP knows that residents of the Gulf Coast are hurting, and are very, very angry. And the anger that is based on fear and heartbreak is very strong indeed.

I don’t personally know anyone who is affected by the loss of land or livelihood. But I do understand the love of place, and my heart breaks for you.

Patty Luzzi has lived on the Eastside for 33 years. Readers can contact her at pattyluzzi@yahoo.com.