I R Scholarly Cat. This Iz Srs Criticisms.

Damn cat. When she isn’t stealing my lounge chair, she’s stealing my work:

Image shows Misha lying down on the Bob Jones University Earth Science 4th edition textbook, her paws around my pen.

All ur debunking creationist drivel r belong to me.

This is because I went to get cushions for the chair she’s making me use, I’m pretty sure.

There’s a glimpse of how things are coming along, though – that notebook you see stuck within the pages of that shit-pile of a textbook represent the beginning of my debunkapalooza for the chapters on geology. Which I’m doing out-of-sequence, because I’m trying to get all this stuff read before I babble at you about it during FtBConscience. I’ve done A Beka’s Science of the Physical Creation geology chapter already. Yeah, it’s pretty bad. Yes, I’m expecting ES4 to be worse – especially since it goes on for nearly the entire length of the entire A Beka book. And on Tuesday, I should get the more recent edition of A Beka’s drivel, granting the delivery dude doesn’t deliver to the wrong apartment again. Ima try to keep up a decent posting schedule, too, but this shit takes forever to get through, and so I may have to skimp a bit here and there. Also, too, it’s summer field season, and we have some places to go and geology to see before the endless gray returns. But at least you know I’m stocking up plenty o’ posts for the winter, eh?

We’ll also be finishing up with Mount St. Helens – lots to go, believe it or not! It’ll be a bit, but if you want to brush up on the series, the link to the spiffy new page is here. I’ll be bringing over the last few posts about the trees soon, too. That should whet your appetite, eh?

All right, one more o’ the wee beastie interrupting my work, and I’ve gotta get back to it.

Misha's shifted to behind the pen, looking as if she expects me to pick it up and get busy, with her still atop the book.

Why aren’t you werking, mummy?

Unidentified Flying Dinosaur: Squeaky Black Shore Birds Parte the Seconde

Great guesses, one and all! I’ve got a snazzy new list of birds to watch for, thanks to you. And this wasn’t really a fair challenge, but you rose to it, and I’m proud o’ ye!

Trebuchet got it – black oystercatcher. How he found that standing bird, I’ll never know – I couldn’t until he said to look for it, and I knew there were a bunch of birds on that beach! The bird landing should also be one. They were hard to see, especially through a camera screen, but I do belive the one that landed is the one in the first photo I shall show you next. I was trying to keep it within my sights. They were all the same – no mixed company for these wee ones. Not at that moment.

I’ll do up the geology properly with explanatory photos soon, but Moarscienceplz wins the punstakes. “I dunite know.” LOLgroan. And also a win with freeze-thaw cycles. I’m certain those rocks are weathering out, not being dragged there by waves. You’ll see some more lines of evidence soon.
All right, here are your further photos, as promised!

Here’s one showing off its neon red-orange beak in a shy but standout manner.

Image shows a black bird with a very long orange beak and a bright orange eye, standing on the cobbles.

Black Oystercatcher I

They sound rather like seagulls, only not as obnoxious. They seem like the much more well-behaved cousins of seagulls. And they’re all over those cobbles like a boss.

Same bird, walking across the cobbles.

Black Oystercatcher II

This one was off to join its mates, who were picking around by the water’s edge.

Black Oystercatcher III

Black Oystercatcher III

There were several of them, but it was hard to get good shots from where we were, and we weren’t about to go down and harsh their mellow. At least we got good enough pics for an ident, right? You, my darlings, are the absolute best.

 

Unidenified Flying Dinosaur: Squeaky Black Shore Birds

So up at Fidalgo Island, I was just taking some pictures of rocks, y’know, the geology sorta thing. Here’s a beach filled with rough cobbles of serpentinite, peridotite, and dunite, along with other things. It’s also got a bird in it.

Image shows a beach full of rough cobbles. There is a black bird coming in for a landing. It's very hard to see.

There’s a bird on this beach. Honestly.

Here, I’ll show you it.

Image shows a black bird with its wings thrust forward, landing amongst the cobbles.

See the bird landing?

Okay. Here’s where I’m going to tell you to stop and try to identify that bird, because otherwise, it won’t be any challenge at all. You’ll have the ident within two seconds if I show you the after-it-landed pics. Ima leave this here, and see if any of you can get it. Most of the clues you need are in the title. I’ll post the other photos later today, so you can see these lovely little things running about and being adorable.

(Also, what can you tell me geologically about that beach, just by the sizes and shapes of those rocks?)

Good luck!

Don’t Believe Everything You See on YouTube: Parícutin Edition

I’d like to conduct an experiment someday. I’d like to gather together a group of experts in a particular field and show them a few popular science video clips relevant to their areas of expertise. Would they groan, howl and laugh as much as I did during these three short clips?

The sad fact is, even august purveyors of information can get things hysterically wrong. And I use the word “hysterically” advisedly – I mean they seem to be pining for disaster. They’re like the poor Angahuan tourist guide who, gazing upon the serene, extinct edifice of Parícutin, said wistfully, “It would be nice if the volcano would erupt again – just a little bit.”

I feel you, amigo. I’ve said the same thing gazing into Mount St. Helens’s crater.

Britannica and Discovery seem to have the same yearning. Watch these two clips, and you’ll see. You should watch them because they are of a cinder cone being born, and they are awesome, despite the bit o’ wrong.

“Now it is dormant. Its activity seems to have come to an end. But we know that some volcanoes have remained inactive for hundreds, even thousands, of years, and then, unexpectedly, erupted again.”

Yeah, you just go on telling yourself that if it makes you feel better, buddy.

This next video comes with a trigger warning for those who become upset at egregious mispronunciation of Spanish words.

“It has not erupted since, but it’s not dead, either. At any moment, Parícutin could erupt again.”

Translation: “Doo-doo-DOOM. You’re all gonna diiiiieeeee!!!!!!!!!!! Ah-hahahahaha! It could happen any second! Mwa-ha-ha!”

These two videos combined inspired me to write a geopoem in the style of Buffalo Bill’s by ee cummings.

Paricutin's by Dana Hunter. Thank you, ee cummings.

Paricutin’s by Dana Hunter. A screenshot with the proper formatting, which WordPress hates and will not reproduce without more pleading and cajoling than I wish to engage in. Thank you, ee cummings.

Parícutin’s
defunct
which used to
erupt rubblyrough-black
lava
and shoot onetwothreefourfive bombsjustlikethat
Jesus
it was a feisty one
and what i want to know is
how do you like your brandnew cinder cone
Señor Pulido

The key term here is “defunct.” Parícutin is defunct. It is definitely deceased. It is an ex-active volcano. It’s a monogenetic volcano – it shot its charge and is now resting in peace. So all of those announcers warning of possible future mayhem in dolorous tones – they’re wrong. I hope the poem helps them remember this fact.

But I have good news for them – the Trans-Mexican Volcanic Belt Parícutin is located in is definitely not defunct. We may not see it in our lifetimes, but a new cinder cone could pop up there at any moment. And it has plenty of volcanoes that go boom. There are several just around Mexico City alone, plus there’s the possibility that a cinder cone could rise up in a Mexico City suburb somewhere, bursting through someone’s living room floor in a fissure of fire, spewing molten rock all over the sofa and teevee, making life quite exciting for the residents and causing the neighborhood to undergo a rather drastic rezoning from residential to volcano. Is that not enough potential mayhem, pop sci program writers? Must you invent entirely fictitious possible future eruptions of Parícutin in order to frighten viewers into watching?

Sadly, I suspect the answer is yes. We’ll probably never convince them otherwise – fear sells, and well they know it. This is why I try to keep a large block of salt handy when watching science programming on the teevee – or, in this case, on YouTube. But those errors, while egregious to those of us who know what a cinder cone actually does, were but minor quibbles compared to the howler in this next video. Seriously, I laughed so hard in the dead of night I thought my neighbor may come up to see what was wrong with me. Watch this, and see if you can spot what had tears of mirth streaming from my eyes.

Have you got it? If so, have you recovered yet? You were probably lulled by the fact it started out so beautifully factual – I’d been sort of serenely enjoying the animations, nodding my head along to the story, thinking, “Oh, yes, tremors must be very common along that belt,” and then bam. It’s like the narrator’s fact finder made a wrong turn at Albuquerque. And this happens:

“What had once been a peaceful cornfield was now a major volcano 3188 meters high. Parícutin is the seventh largest volcano in the world.”

This will come as a nasty shock to volcanoes like Parinacota, which by elevation above sea level, is the 7th tallest according to the Global Volcanism Project. The number quoted is Parícutin’s elevation above sea level, and the narrator fails even by that measure. 6348m is greater than 3188m by, like, a lot.

Parícutin is awesome because it was a volcano we got to watch grow up from crack-in-the-ground to strapping young cinder cone, but it’s not even the highest volcanic summit on its own continent – Pico de Orizaba is. Our poor Parí is dwarfed by literally every stratovolcano in the country. It’s only 424 meters (1391 feet) tall. Like all cinder cones, it’s short, and not terribly explosive. It only reached a VEI of 4 – respectable, yeah, but ten times smaller than the May 1980 eruption of Mount St. Helens, and it took nine years to achieve a tiny fraction of what St. Helens did in an afternoon. It’s not the seventh largest volcanic anything that I’m able to determine – although I’d argue it’s in the top ten in coolness. I mean, it suddenly appeared in poor Señor Pulido’s field and grew into a robust young volcano within a week, watched by people start-to-finish, and caught on film in the 1940s – if that’s not cool, no volcano is cool, and we might as well just shut up shop right now and start talking about other geological things.

At the risk of making Rosetta Stones all volcanoes all the time, I’ll write up the true story of Parícutin someday fairly soon – and I hope that I can prove that a volcano doesn’t have to be among the biggest or most dangerous or liable to awaken at any time in order for its eruption to be one of the coolest geological events in history.

This spectacular nighttime time-exposure of México's Parícutin volcano in 1948 shows strombolian ejection of incandescent blocks and their trails as they roll down the slopes of the cone. Parícutin is renowned as the volcano that was born in a cornfield in 1943. It grew to a height of more than 150 m within the first week of its appearance, and remained active until 1952.  Photo by Carl Fries, 1948 (U.S. Geological Survey). Image and caption courtesy the Smithsonian/The Dynamic Earth.

This spectacular nighttime time-exposure of México’s Parícutin volcano in 1948 shows strombolian ejection of incandescent blocks and their trails as they roll down the slopes of the cone. Parícutin is renowned as the volcano that was born in a cornfield in 1943. It grew to a height of more than 150 m within the first week of its appearance, and remained active until 1952. Photo by Carl Fries, 1948 (U.S. Geological Survey). Image and caption courtesy the Smithsonian/The Dynamic Earth.

I think we’ve also proved that respected names as well as unknown folk can be hilariously wrong about science. If you run across an error in any video clips you’re watching, send me a link – you never know what adventures error correction may launch us on.

References

Fries, C.F. et al (1993): Movie footage of the activity of Paricutin Volcano, Michoacan, Mexico, 1945-1952. USGS Open-File Report 93-197-A.

Luhr, J.F. and Delgado-Granados, H. (1997): Aerial Examination of Volcanoes Along the Front of the Western Trans-Mexican Volcanic Belt and a Visit to Parícutin. International Association of Volcanology and Chemistry of the Earth’s Interior.

 

Previously published at Scientific American/Rosetta Stones.

Fun, Fidalgo, an Ophiolite, and a Very Rude Buck

We made it to Fidalgo Island. Yay! We got lotsa pictures of bonza peridotite and serpentinite. Double yay! I’ll have a proper write-up one o’ these days, but for today, we’ll do some outtakes.

This time, we visited Washington Park. I’ve been there once before, many years ago, and had no idea that Cujo and I had been hanging about on serpentinized peridotite. Yum! Now I knew, and B and I were determined to see all of it we could see. We got a sorta late start, got hung up in Everett traffic, and lingered over lunch, so it was late in the afternoon when we arrived. Let me tell you something about Washington Park: when you’re in the parking lot, you’ll freeze. There’s a sort of saddle between the bay and the Sound, and the wind blows vigorously through, and it’s like standing in a refrigerator. Do not let this deceive you. If it’s a warm day, you’re gonna end up sweating to death. That’s because of this:

Image shows fingers of brown rock jutting into the blue Sound. Framed by a fir tree.

Peridotite benches at Washington Park, Fidalgo Island.

Peridotite is dark, dense, iron-rich rock that seems to love absorbing lotsa rays and reflecting the heat right back atcha. If you get a chance to go here on a warm summer day, bring plenty of water, wear sunglasses, and remember that a bit of seawater judiciously applied to the back of the neck will help cool things right down.

The loop road, which is also a lovely paved trail, is nice and shady, and you can pop through the trees and bushes and get lovely views of the Sound and the San Juans.

Image shows a dead tree jutting horizontally from the cliff. Through its branches is the Sound and a mountain-shaped island.

A lovely horizontal snag pointing toward the San Juan Islands. I think that’s Orcas Island, but I’m horrible at recognizing these things.

The glacially-planed and polished serpentinite/peridotite makes lovely benches from which to stand majestically looking out over the Sound.

Image shows B standing atop a dark black/brown bench of peridotite with a glitter trail on the Sound from the low-lying sun.

B and the Sea.

Here’s a rare action shot of me crossing a crack through the peridotite.

Image shows me landing on the other side of a crevice on a flat brown peridotite bench.

That’s me doing geology! Sorta.

Lotsa glacial action in this photo – see if you can spot it! You’ve been hanging round me long enough you should be able to see at least one or two things.

You definitely should do the loop road, either hiking or driving. There’s another stopoff on the other side that is neato and I’ll show you it in some detail soon, and then you get to the bottom, and there may be a buck and a doe grazing. However, the deer here are rude.

Image is a profile of a little black-tailed brown buck with wee antlers. He's sticking his tongue out. Looks like he's blowing a raspberry.

Rude buck.

We laughed and laughed, of course. There were deer all over, including in people’s yards. Washington Park is huge, and seems to be a happy home for them.

At the end of the day, driving home, Mount Baker was beautifully illuminated, so I pulled the car to the side of the highway and grabbed you a shot.

Image shows Mount Baker. The sun is low, and has pinkened the snow on its slopes.

Mount Baker from Highway 20, just outside of Anacortes.

Wonderful stuff, and much fun. I’ve got to get my talk done, work on the next post in the Seattle Seahawks Superbowl Ring series (which next post is a pain, because just when I thought I had the research finished, bam – came across a series of papers that call all our existing knowledge into question. Darn it all to heck!). But B asked some great questions about peridotite, so I’ll try to sneak some answers in about that in the near-future, and eventually, after a few more visits to the Island, I’ll be whipping up a series on the ophiolite there. And that’s in addition to the ten tons of other great geology we’ve got going on! And summer field season isn’t even over! It’s going to be a super science winter, lemme tell ya.

Fundamentals of Fungi: Sēnes of the Meža!

Our own RQ loves us enough to take pictures of mushrooms (sēnes) in a forest (meža). This is the extent of Latvian I can write courtesy of Google Translate, and I have no idea if it’s anywhere near correct, and I still am not sure how to say “fungi” or “wood mushroom” properly. Perhaps RQ can tell us while lovers of identifying pretty fungi figure out what these are.

Image shows a downed log, covered with moss, with a ruin of some sort and a forest beyond. The log has two wood mushrooms visible: one is brick red, the other is larger and black with a touch of red on the underside.

Mystery Fungi I

She can also tell you more about the ruins, if she likes, should you be curious. I’m not sure what that big foundation thingy is. I’m more interested in the lovely fungi growing on the log.

Image shows a black wood mushroom with a red and orange rim.

Mystery Fungi II

How beautiful is that? Dark as the night, with a flare of sunset. Nature is one of the original artists. If I had a horse, I’d make it shoes like this and we’d go dancing.

We have a bonus mystery – I can’t tell if this is more fungi, or lichen.

Image shows some gray bits that might be fungi... or may be lichen.

Mystery…???

Definitely enlarge that and have a gander at the textures.

And, should you want a squee, go look at what I found when I was googling sēnes. ZOMG SO CUTE!!! You guys have no idea how much I want a kitten in a knitted mushroom costume right now. Just… not under the circumstances that kitty had to wear its little costume. Don’t translate the text unless you want your squee to go sad. Here, go read why kitties like mushrooms, instead.

Ima go cuddle my ancient kitty now. Well, attempt to cuddle. You know how she is. Enjoy your shrooms, my darlings!

Cryptopod: Wanna-be-a-Zebra

There are many patterns in nature that repeat. There’s probably a reason for them, but being more into geology, I’m not sure what many of them are. Take this little cryptopod sent in by RowanVT: I think part of it wants to be a zebra.

Silly wasp or bee or whatever you are. You’re not a zebra. Even if you do have zebra stripes on your rear.

Image shows a wasp or bee going in to a hole in the dirt. It's got yellow legs and a zebra-striped butt.

Cryptopod I

You live in a hole in the ground. Zebras don’t live in the ground.

Side view showing a large green eye and hairy shoulders.

Cryptopod II

You have antennae. Zebra don’t have antennae!

Cryptopod III

Cryptopod III

You have yellow legs. Zebras don’t have yellow legs! Also, you have six of them. Zebras have only four (sometimes less, if a lion’s bitten one off).

Cryptopod IV

Cryptopod IV

Now your stripes look yellow! Zebra stripes don’t look yellow. Not unless a lion’s peed on them or something.

Cryptopod V

Cryptopod V

You have thin, clear wings. Zebras don’t have wings of any sort.

Cryptopod VI

Cryptopod VI

You have eyes as big as your head. Zebras don’t have eyes that big. I don’t think you’re a zebra at all, little wasp-bee-thingy.

New at Rosetta Stones: Mount Baker At Last! Plus, a Genuine Watercolor

I’ve got the preliminary findings from our maiden voyage to Mount Baker up at Rosetta Stones for ye. You’re gonna love it.

You may also love this photograph of Mount Shuksan:

Image shows what looks like a watercolor image of Mount Shuksan.

Mount Shuksan reflected in a lovely tarn.

Looks sorta like a watercolor, doesn’t it just? It sorta is: this is Mount Shuksan as reflected in a lovely little tarn on Mount Baker Highway.

It’s the real thing – I’ve just played a bit with the brightness and such. Here’s the untouched version:

Mount Shuksan as reflected in the tarn.

Mount Shuksan as reflected in the tarn, without the fiddling around.

Okay, and I flipped it right-side up, too. See it in its non-reflected glory at Rosetta Stones, and find out why it’s really actually green.

Danger Zone! The New Madrid Seismic Zone

(A reprise from Rosetta Stones, especially for Robert B., as this answers part of the question posed: “But what’s up with South Carolina and the Mississippi/Ohio River confluence?”)

 

Malachite asked an excellent question I’m actually well-placed to address without further research. Yay!

New curiosity: what the heck is that danger zone where Missouri meets Tennessee?

Heh. Pretty startling, innit?

Image shows a map of the US with hazard zones picked out in yellow and red. There's a bullseye just right of Texas. It hits corners of Indiana, Kentucky, Tennessee, Mississippi, Arkansas, Missouri, and Illinois.

USGS National Seismogenic Hazard Map. Image courtesy USGS.

That great big target painted on Middle America, my friends, is the New Madrid Seismic Zone. In 1811, it broke in a big way, so big it caused the Mississippi River to run backwards for a bit. Lots of interesting things happened that weren’t quite so interesting to the people who lived through it. More terrifying. And since then, people have watched that fault with a wary stare. It still kicks from time to time, letting us know the earth isn’t as stable as we’d like. But some studies suggest that those may just be aftershocks, long after the main event, and nothing much to worry about. I wrote that up here, a long time ago when I was a young, fresh science blogger.

The thing about New Madrid is this: it was so dramatic, so unexpected, that we’ve approached it with an overabundance of caution ever since. And until further studies confirm it’s no longer a threat, I personally think we’d be wise to continue to treat it as a potential, even if not probable, problem. And this is an excellent place to study intercontinental earthquakes, which are odd and intriguing, so let the science continue!

Here are some additional links should you wish to investigate further.

Nature: Seth Stein: The quake killer.

Nature: Long aftershock sequences within continents and implications for earthquake hazard assessment (pdf).

Highly Allochthonous: Earthquakes within plates: we don’t know when, and we may not know where.

+/- Science:  An Abbreviated Numerical History of the Great New Madrid Earthquakes.

Geologic diagram of the Reelfoot Rift. Image courtesy USGS.

Geologic diagram of the Reelfoot Rift. Image courtesy USGS.

 

On The Necessity of Geology

There is an urgent need for talking and teaching geology.

Many people don’t know it. They think geology is rocks, but if they’re not rock aficionados, it’s nothing to do with them. So our K-12 schools inadequately teach the earth sciences (pdf). People don’t learn about geology, and they grow up to move to hazardous areas without being aware of the risks. They grow into politicians who feel it’s smart to sneer at volcano monitoring. They become people who don’t understand what geologists can and cannot do, and imprison scientists who couldn’t predict the unpredictable.

L'Aquila, Abruzzo, Italy. A goverment's office disrupted by the 2009 earthquake. Image and caption courtesy The Wiz83 via Wikimedia Commons.

L’Aquila, Abruzzo, Italy. A goverment’s office disrupted by the 2009 earthquake. Image and caption courtesy The Wiz83 via Wikimedia Commons.

So we need to talk geology, anywhere and everywhere we can.

A while ago at work, we got on the subject of earthquakes. I don’t remember how it happened, but suddenly, I was surrounded by a gaggle of people whilst I pulled up a diagram of the local subduction zone and delivered a mini-lecture on how it works.

You’d think such pontification would drive people away. It didn’t. They were riveted.

Cascadia Seismogenic Zone. Image courtesy R.D. Hyndman, Geological Survey of Canada.

Cascadia Seismogenic Zone. When it finally comes undone, the Pacific Northwest will experience catastrophe on a scale that will make Mount St. Helens look like a sneeze. Image courtesy R.D. Hyndman, Geological Survey of Canada.

Granted, it’s a fascinating subject. But there’s a huge amount of misinformation floating about in the aether. I had to do some gentle correction – and a bit of putting the fear of Cascadia into folks. It reminded me how critical it is to be aware of what’s going to hapen here – and how few people realize it.

One of my coworkers had vaguely heard that there was a dangerous fault that could lead to a big earthquake near Oregon. He didn’t realize Washington was also at risk – and we’re not ready for something so huge. Everyone I was speaking to looked extremely surprised when I told them we will get hit with a subduction zone earthquake on the order of the Tōhoku Earthquake that devastated Japan in March 2011 – and that we are far more vulnerable than Japan was, because we haven’t done what they have to prepare.

A close-up view of the ripped and twisted metal on a Japanese dock that washed ashore at Agate Beach, OR. The March 11, 2011 earthquake and tsunami ripped this 47 ton concrete and metal structure from its moorings and sent it to sea. It floated across the Pacific to land in Oregon over a year later. Author's photo.

A close-up view of the ripped and twisted metal on a Japanese dock that washed ashore at Agate Beach, OR. The March 11, 2011 earthquake and tsunami ripped this 47 ton concrete and metal structure from its moorings and sent it to sea. It floated across the Pacific to land in Oregon over a year later. Author’s photo.

That’s when the fear started. It’s a healthy fear, a realistic one I wish more citizens shared. We don’t need paralyzing fear, but the galvanizing kind, the kind that forces us to get informed and do what it takes to prepare for the inevitable.

We discussed some of the risk we’d face here in our particular corner of the Seattle area. We’re far enough inland and high enough in elevation that we won’t have to worry about being washed away by a tsunami. But some folks were under the impression we’d be safe from earthquake damage here. That’s not true. We won’t suffer the worst of it, unlike the coast, but a look at the shake map shows we’re going to get a shaking strong enough to cause damage; we’ll experience several minutes of severe shaking, and those earthquake waves have a terrible potential to get trapped and amplified by the basin we’re in, making that shaking worse. We are going to get hit: that’s a certainty (pdf). It could be today, tomorrow, months or years, but the Cascadia subduction zone will eventually slip catastrophically. And many of the residents don’t even know it’s there. Most of our emergency services aren’t prepared for an event of that magnitude (pdf). They don’t realize that “The Big One” isn’t going to be a single event, but a series of severe shocks that could go on for years after the 9.0. Ignorance of geology will lead to a greater catastrophe, because we didn’t know enough to prepare our cities against seismic threats.

Looking toward shore on Agate Beach, it becomes obvious we haven't prepared for the 9. Note the shiny new hotel nestled right in the low point of the tsunami hazard zone. This is why we need to talk geology: so that people don't risk their lives and fortunes by building in the path of inevitable destruction. Author photo.

Looking toward shore on Agate Beach, it becomes obvious we haven’t prepared for the 9. Note the shiny new hotel nestled right in the low point of the tsunami hazard zone. This is why we need to talk geology: so that people don’t risk their lives and fortunes by building in the path of inevitable destruction. Author photo.

Ordinary people who are not rock-obsessed have a need for geology. It’s a necessity, not a luxury. Here’s what a basic knowledge of geology can do for a person:

Those of us who know geology need to talk about it, write about it, wax lyrical over it and fight for it. And for those of us who’ve given it short shrift in the past, it’s time to reassess our relationship to the rocks beneath our feet. It’s never been more important than now.

USGS National Seismogenic Hazard Map. Image courtesy USGS.

USGS National Seismogenic Hazard Map. Image courtesy USGS.

 

Previously published at Scientific American/Rosetta Stones.