Living On The Faultline

A 5.4 earthquake back home and I missed it.

When I was young I would have spent the whole day freaked out. I was 11 years old in June of 1992 when I experienced my defining earthquake moment(s).

The Landers earthquake (earthquakes are always named after their epicenters) struck at 5 a.m. on Sunday. It was a 7.3. For my friends who don't know from earthquakes, that is a monster. In fact, it was the most powerful earthquake in the contiguous states in 40 years.

I remember hearing my dog barking and then I felt the jolt. It hit hard and just started rolling. I'm not sure why, but my family all convened under the heaviest piece of furniture we had that we could fit under: the dining room table. It felt like it shook forever and when it stopped we all lay there huddled and a little stunned. We'd experienced plenty of temblors, but this was completely different. When we'd gathered ourselves, my sister and I brought our sheets and blankets into our parents' room. I don't recall how, but I think we all got back to sleep.

The first aftershock struck at 8 a.m. was centered in Big Bear and was measured at 6.4. I think my mom was getting ready for church. We all dove under the table again and waited it out, not knowing if the roof was going to collapse and kill us all. We are less than an hour's driving distance from Big Bear and Landers, and, considering the Landers quake was felt all the way in Idaho and Colorado, we got rocked. Our ceiling had some visible cracks and a small eagle sculpture was rattled off the entertainment center and broke.

When the shaking was over — and church was canceled — we trekked outside and sat in the old Ford Escort. I felt safer outside because I thought I could handle a tree falling on me better than a roof. Big Bear is nestled in the San Gorgornio Mountains in San Bernardino County. Yucaipa, my hometown, abuts the San Gs and on a rare, clear day you can see Big Bear from my front yard. That morning, and throughout the day, we watched landslides cascade down the mountainside. Needless to say, it was a tad eerie.

In the following days, experts from the U.S. Geological Survey kept appearing on TV talking about the chances for more aftershocks. Everybody was talking about the "Big One." One geologist I remember (because I was scared out of my mind) said that the region should be on high alert for a significant event for the next five years. I couldn't wait for 1997.

In 1994 the Northridge earthquake struck. Although I had to ride this out as well (it was a few miles farther away from us), I don't remember being affected as much. The media made a bigger deal out of it because it was L.A., but at this point I had learned to accept it — with a few reservations. After 1992 I always slept halfway out of my blankets in case I needed to make a quick escape. I also slept in my parents room for a spell and then on my sister's floor. I felt like sleeping on the floor would make me feel it sooner. My room had been an add on, so I didn't think it had the strength of the rest of the house. Also, I was pretty chicken.

After moving to the South, specifically tornado alley, I have reassessed my childhood nemesis. I figured that if I had to live with natural disasters, I would rather deal with earthquakes. I made this decision after the third consecutive day of tornado warnings this year. Who needs the trouble of worrying about death when it can just strike out of nowhere?

Also, if I'm ever really homesick for earthquakes, I live on maybe the most overdue fault in the world (the New Madrid). When it hits, it's going to rock.

Hopefully it's not during a tornado.