The hundred year flood

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As the night returned to quiet and the ground ceased to move, Anita recovered whatever composure she had lost, picked up her deck of cards, and said to herself, “That’s the way it goes, folks. The earth’s a very shaky mobile thing, and that’s how it works. Apparently, the mountains around here are flexplek huren breda still going up.” Later, she would say, “We were taught all wrong. We were taught that changes on the face of the earth come in a slow steady march. But that isn’t what happens. The slow steady march of geologic time is punctuated with catastrophes. And what we see in the geologic record are the catastrophes. Look at a graded sandstone and see the bedding go from fine to coarse. That’s a storm. That’s one storm-when the water came up and laid the coarse material down over the fine. In the rock record, the tranquillity of time is not well represented. Instead, you have the catastrophes. In the Southwest, they live from one catastrophe to another, from one flash flood to the next. The evolution of the world does not happen a grain at a time. It happens in the hundred-year storm, the hundred year flood. Those things do it all. That earthquake made a catastrophist of me.” No one knew where the bears went when they left the Gallatin Range. When they came back, they were covered with mud.
Catastrophism in another form presented itself that autumn when Jack Epstein was transferred to the office of the Geological Survey’s Water Resources Division in Alexandria, Louisiana. There was no position for  flexplek huren almere Anita, and she could not have had a job even if one had been open, for it was a rule of the Survey that spouses could not work for the same supervisor. The Alexandria office was small, and included one supervisor. Her nascent geological career was suddenly aborted. She taught physics and chemistry in a Rapides Parish high school. In the summer that followed, she worked for the state government as an interviewer in the unemployment office. She did her geology when and where she could. Driving home from work, she saw people dressed like signal flags hitting golf balls on fake moraines.

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