Carolyn J.
Rose
The Cascadia
Subduction Zone has been quiet lately—too quiet. Scientists worry that the
tectonic plates under the Pacific Ocean are
locked up and will unlock not with a series of relatively small quakes, but with
one massive temblor. A recent report suggested that I should be worried too, so
I added the subduction zone to my sweat-it list.
But I put it near the
bottom. There’s nothing I can do about the movement of those plates. I can’t
prevent or ameliorate what’s to come. If the plates rip loose like a giant
zipper, much of the Pacific Northwest will
shake, rattle, shatter, collapse, burn, or be inundated by a
tsunami.
If I obsess about when
that will happen and where I’ll be and whether I’ll survive, I’ll lose a lot of
sleep and gain a lot of weight. (Yes, I’m a stress eater.) What I can do is prepare for that day—stockpile
supplies, stash cash, make plans for rendezvous points, and study up on first
aid.
What I can also do is
focus on smaller and more immediate dangers. For example, the coyote roaming my
neighborhood.
Recently, in broad
daylight, I spotted him (or maybe her) peering through the fence at my dogs. He
didn’t hustle away when I shouted, but slowly slunk off. A day or so later a
neighbor opened his back door to find a coyote a few feet away. And my husband
spotted one trotting across a main street. These guys are getting bold and will
likely grow even bolder as winter progresses.
But I can do something
about the coyotes. I can take steps to take my yard off the top of their list of
potential places to dine—turn on more lights, never let the dogs out unless I’m
with them, watch for digging around the fence, make sure there’s nothing a
carnivore would like in the compost.
I’ll also network with
neighbors to keep up on coyote sightings. Getting to know the folks around me
might serve me well when those tectonic plates unlock, the big quake comes, and
we have to depend on each other until outside help
arrives.
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