Creek Running North

There was a small quake a few miles from us a week or so ago, and apparently everyone within a 15 mile radius of us felt it, except us. I blame the TV.

I’ve only experienced one earth quake - the 6.8 that hit Seattle in 2001. (I live in Vancouver, BC.) Walls shook, windows rattled, and the floor seemed to undulate.  An eerie low moaning sound preceded the shaking.  I was standing at the kitchen sink barefoot when it hit and all I could think was “I’m going to die while washing dishes!”

I felt many in my years in the Sierras. As some people remember the moment of the first moon landing, or the Kennedy assassination, I remember my first quake, a 3.0 or so. The building shuddered! How exciting! An actual EARTHQUAKE!

Later, I got to experience stronger ones. MUCH stronger. Just as we humans have that weird diving reflex that kicks in when we fall into cold water, I think we also have a “get outside” reflex that kicks in during severe earthquakes. One moment you’re inside, relaxed, watching TV, the next moment you’re outside, with no intervening seconds between, despite two flights of stairs, numerous doors, and other fleeing people along the way. You have exactly zero memory between easy chair and sidewalk.

After that, even the small ones aren’t exactly fun anymore.

But still, there’s something refreshing in the fact that after a big quake you can see all the permanence and solidity around you—walls, buildings, hillsides—as profoundly unsolid and impermanent. It’s kind of a conceptual wake-up call.

Often, I think of how wild the earth is.  We’re like dust motes on a wild bull’s back.  Yes, hang on to someone close.
A long while back.. I guess it was 1983 (had to look it up), we had a strong earthquake with the epicenter very near to our farm.  That’s a very rare event here in eastern Ontario.  Just a little before the quake, my dog, Kaila (can I post a link to her photo?) raced down the hall, jumped on the bed and spun around to face the west wall of the room.  She lay very still, like the Great Sphinx (it was the greyhound in her), staring at the wall, ears pointed at the closet.  Moments later, there was a great roar like a train coming from the west.  The house began to sway and shake.  At the peak of it, the footboard of my old bed came unhinged and flipped down onto the floor, dropping the mattress on a slope.  As the shaking subsided, Kaila turned, looked over her shoulder, and gave me the most unforgettable “What the hell was that?” look.  That was the biggest shake I’ve yet experienced.

Even as I read this I experienced my first BIG quake again. Here in Athens a few years ago. I will never forget how fragile I felt. It took me a couple of years to recover for real. The earth is a mighty powerful thing…

After that, even the small ones aren’t exactly fun anymore.

Bingo, Hank.

We lay awake for rather a long time—on the second story of an old frame house on potentially gooey soil some miles closer to the epicenter than Chris’ is—and waited for the other boot to drop. We’re neither of us native optimists and recent events have left us even less cheerful.

Denial is not the same thing as optimism, I’ve discovered. We really do need to keep robes and shoes by the bed though, especially shoes.

You’d think we’d’ve invented boingy houses and windows by now.

When I lived in Mammoth, I kept a bundle I called my Dash Pack next to the door. It had spare clothes, shoes, a bit of food, light sticks, matches, money, the basics for temporary survival away from home. Something I could grab up as I ran out of the collapsing house in my underwear in the middle of the night.

Is it weird that I find myself missing earthquakes, now that I’m in a place where they are not common?

I also miss the wildfires, the Santa Anas, the early morning fogs…

(I guess I’m just a California girl at heart.)