We had an earthquake yesterday. If you live on the other side of the country from me, it might not have made your evening news broadcast. Or perhaps it did, because I got emails from all of my horse friends on the other side of the Mississippi, wondering if my stalls were still standing.
Everything's fine. And in case you have a map handy, the epicenter was in Chino Hills, which is maybe 10 miles from my house.
One thing you get used to if you're a native Californian is earthquakes. They're just a fact of life, no different than hurricanes in the South or tornadoes in the Midwest. We just deal with them. Unless holes open up in the streets, freeway overpasses collapse or water mains break, we just grab the nearest solid object and hold on until the shaking stops. In fact, I have a saying that I don't get out of bed for anything less than a 5.0. This one ended up being rated as a 5.4. But I wasn't in bed when it came.
So, where was I? I was outside, just starting to longe Wally. I happened to be facing in the direction of Chino Hills, and as I let out the longe line I heard what I thought was the wind.
"Huh," I thought. "It's awfully early in the day for the wind to pick up."
Then I heard a growing groan. Though I contemplated, "sonic boom or explosion" I quickly recognized the familiar tidal wave of noise and rattling as the seismic wave caused the earth to heave as it surged toward me.
Only when the wave hit did Wally leap into the air and spook, but that was probably because the iron panels on our block wall made a distinctive metallic rattle as they shook with the temblor. Then, Wally stopped and looked at me. He seemed momentarily perplexed. Then we both looked around us, saw that everything was still standing, and carried on.
I suppose it's a good thing that both Wally and I were born and raised in earthquake country.