Goldilocks and the Five Earthquakes

Once upon a time, a blond not-so-young lady from the wild and woodchuck-infested forests of Pennsylvania moved to the west coast. Bye-bye woodchucks, forests and rain; hello coyotes, wildfires and earthquakes.

Unusually, this girl from the edge of Amish country had once experienced a very small earthquake as a child -- around Easter -- or else a small, invisible freight train had once driven under my parents' house. That's what it had felt and sounded like. But that was a long time ago, and I was eager to experience a real earthquake.

Not too big: I didn't want anyone hurt. Not too small: I knew what that was like. A 5.5, I thought, would be just right.

There were a couple of tantalizing bumps and wobbles. One night, it felt like a dump truck dropped an invisible dumpster just outside: or rather, it felt like something had dropped the whole dump truck. That was interesting but small, probably a 3 or 4 centered right under me. Finally, in 1999, it happened: a real, no-doubt-about-it earthquake. This was a lengthy rolling earthquake that set the apartment creaking and the drapes swinging. Working late, I jumped up from my chair and hurried outside onto the porch.

Under a balcony.

Under glass windows.

Under several awnings.

Putting the lie to stories about psychic animals, my cat slept right through the start of the shaking. She would have slept through the whole thing if I hadn't run back inside to carry her onto the porch. She protested vigorously. SHE knew you don't stand right where broken glass, masonry, and other stuff cracking off the outside of a building can fall right on your head.

Luckily, it was not a severe quake, although it was spectacular. Transformers blew all around my neighborhood, lighting the night sky with blue flashes like a massive thunderstorm. Dogs barked and howled. Every single car alarm went off. Afterwards, I turned on the TV to hear: "If you're seeing this broadcast, you're one of the few." But that was all.

The damage elsewhere was slight, since the epicenter was 30-50 miles from cities. A train derailed, but the only injury was a dislocated hip. Desert residents had the contents of their trailers, homes and stores thrown around like tossed salad. The Disney Hotel sign cracked. There was other minor damage, mostly bricks falling from building façades.

A few months earlier, another 7.2 earthquake had leveled the Turkish city of Izmet and killed perhaps 35,000 people. It was sobering to realize what a difference quake-proofing and building codes make, although liquefaction and proximity to the epicenter also played a role.

Almost ten years later, I experienced another, very wimpy earthquake, the kind that makes the evening news chiefly by throwing goods off store shelves and dumping them on the floor.

This earthquake was a shake-shake-shaker, like a juddering train. It wasn't very strong, and it was over almost as soon as it began. I stayed at my desk, instead of getting under it for safety.

I still hadn't learned the right thing to do in an earthquake.

This store clerk moved towards the door because of things falling, but probably should have found a place to "Drop, Cover, and Hang On." Judge Judy did exactly the right thing:

On Easter Sunday, 2010, almost exactly 26 after my Easter egg decorating in Pennsylvania was interrupted by a very small earthquake, I experienced another, much larger earthquake. The epicenter was 150 miles away.

This one was impressively loud, rumbling and creaking. It's the first time I've ever seen the walls, ceiling and floor of a room ripple with visible waves like sheets of aluminum. The cat bolted into the bedroom and disappeared under the bed. I hopped out of my chair and ran to my office door to hold on. BZZZZT! Still not the right thing to do!

There were no deaths, thankfully, but injuries and a lot of toppled homes and buildings in Mexicali. YouTube was inundated with San Diegans filming swimming pools imitating a wave tank. (Also see this amazing video -- strong language warning -- of the mountains throwing up huge amounts of dust from the shock).

Until now, I had relied vaguely on my camping gear, freeze-dried camping food, a few gallons of water, and extra cat food/litter stored in the garage. The Easter 2010 quake was a wake-up call that I needed to get organized. I saw a lot of homes in Mexicali that had collapsed over the garage, which is the vulnerable point of most houses, and I realized I might not have access to my garage. I knew, too, that in the "Big One," we would be without power and water for days, and the roads might be obstructed. It was time to get serious and make sure I could shelter in place for a week.

Using this earthquake preparedness checklist, I collected and organized earthquake supplies in my car (under-the-trunk suitcase compartments are handy!) and in a bin on my back patio, accessible from outside. Storing camping supplies outside in a locker is also a good idea.

Two months later, a 5.7 aftershock was the best earthquake yet: almost no damage, just swaying like a floating dock in a marina. It was an odd earthquake; I and many SoCal residence felt seasick, even though it wasn't as strong as the one before. In fact, I felt queasy for a few days.

But this was a good earthquake: strong enough to be exciting without being dangerous. In fact, it was fun! Check out the standing ovation from these baseball fans:

Here's the important thing. I finally got it right: Drop, Cover and Hold On. As soon as the shaking started, I went under the bar in the kitchen.

The old wisdom about moving to a doorway in an earthquake comes from photos of old buildings in the southwest, made of mud-brick (adobe): clay crumbles, while wood-frame doors stay up. But wood-frame homes flex. Unless buildings are made of brick, stone or unreinforced concrete, or they're sitting on floodplain soils or landfill which can liquefy, they are unlikely to collapse. A much more common danger is getting hit by things flying off shelves, glass popping out of windows or light fixtures and tiles falling from the ceiling. So drop and get under a desk or next to heavy (non-glass!) furniture. Hold on in case it's a big one.

Evacuate the building after it's all over, but watch out for glass and fallen debris.