An alternate title: La Soufrière, Soufrière Hills, La Grande Soufrière, Soufrière Volcanic Center (aka Qualibou and Creole Soufwiyè): Stay or Move
If you’ve read the frontispiece to this website or the preface in the first volume of This Is Not Your Practice Life, you know the fundamental premise that underlies many of the 2,000 essays I’ve written for this website: Place is primary. And the argument, bear with the repetition here, is based on whether or not one can remember any “tIme” without place. * If you tell me about yesterday, or tomorrow, or ten years ago, you will make reference to place; it’s place where time occurs. No place, no time.
Today I have further proof that place is more important to us than time. It comes in the form of a reticence to move away from danger, danger as in earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, avalanches, tornadoes, and hurricanes. Specifically, that proof comes from St. Vincent, where La Soufrière is threatening a major eruption, its first since 1979. Some residents living in the shadow of the volcano decided to leave their places only after the ash started to fall; they were reluctant to leave when the government told them the volcano was showing signs of renewed activity and when their own eyes and ears confirmed the suspicions.
La Soufrière
Island hop in the West Indies and you’re bound to run into the name Soufrière. French, of course, dating back to the time of pirates and frigates, and Spain, France, and England in conflict over the New World, a back-and-forth series of conflicts that saw, for example, an exchange of St. Lucia some 17 times between French and English. Island Creole is evidence of the exchanges, and many islanders have two languages, one for tourists and the other for themselves. Among the Antilles—Lesser and Greater, Windward and Leeward—lying in a volcanic arc that began forming 40 million years ago, you’ll see either active or dormant volcanoes, or visit, as on Dominica, a town with the name that means “sulfur mine.”
And why sulfur? The element is typical of an area with volcanism. Volcanoes eject sulfur dioxide (SO2)—sometimes into the stratosphere to affect world temperatures. Because the Antilles are volcanic islands, sulfur is common; thus, the widespread use of the name Soufrière. Most of the volcanoes in the Antilles are sleeping, but every so often, even in modern times, one awakes to disturb human sleep. In 1999 Montserrat’s Soufrière Hills erupted, displacing residents and eventually killing nine of them who decided that they could determine their own destiny beneath an andesitic cone or stratovolcano. Whereas it’s true that a people might find a quiet and peaceful life in the shadow of such a dormant volcano whose soils provide a fertile farmland, it’s also true that any any time—not of the islanders’ choosing—the volcano can destroy anything or anyone at its base with a super hot and choking pyroclastic flow that descends from its summit faster than highway speeds (Think Vesuvius in 79 and Pompeii and Herculaneum and Mont Pelée in 1902 and Saint-Pierre).
Funny How Place Names Sometimes Reveal Realities
Pennsylvania has a town called Intercourse. No, it wasn’t named for what you are thinking though it would be foolish to think that the Amish don’t. (I’m ending the sentence with don’t to avoid saying the Amish aren’t not known for orgies). Sometimes names reveal something about the region’s geology, as Volcano, Hawaii (Duh, it’s Hawaii, isn’t it?), Rich Creek and and Poverty Stream, Virginia, the former running through limestone and the latter through shale, the former with permeable rock and abundant ground water and the latter with impermeable rock and less ground water, and finally, all those Soufrière places sitting in volcanic landscapes, one, for example, on Montserrat, one on the next island, St. Lucia, and one on St. Vincent, all volcanoes capable of erupting at any time and sending a nuée ardente (“fiery cloud”) of hot ash and poisonous gas down their slopes.
Move or Stay?
First Hypothetical: Take Poverty Stream in Virginia. The first Europeans who moved into the area of Virginia now crossed by Route 460 in the vicinity of the New River named those two areas on the basis of groundwater. The warping of rocks during the crush between Africa and North America had placed layers of shales and limestones on end in a “stack” like a piece of layer cake served with the top on the side. Some of those Europeans settled on land that was rich in groundwater resources (the limestone layers) whereas others settled on land that had little available groundwater. Now here’s the hypothetical. Given that you are a farmer and a second-generation resident, would you stay in the area of Poverty Stream to continue the family farm where groundwater was scarce or move?
Second Hypothetical: Take any of the Soufrière areas on the islands. Given that you are a “second generation resident” on an island with a history of volcanism, would you move or remain where the name Sulfur Mine indicates a potential for destruction and death? Recall that just as recently as 1979 St. Vincent’s La Soufrière erupted and Montserrat’s Soufrière Hills erupted two decades later. Would today’s 2024 eruption convince you to convince your children to move?
What is more important, the little time one has in a human life or the place where one lives?
Sure, Poverty Might Keep You in Poverty Stream, Virginia, but…
Obviously, moving isn’t very easy. Usually, there has to be strong motivation like a new job or a disaster that obliterates beyond repair or a strong desire to move coupled with financial freedom and a willingness to start anew. How many current Floridians were once residents of cold New York before they retired.
But even after a disaster, many choose to remain. New Orleans still has a large population after Hurricane Katrina, and San Francisco still has one after the Loma Prieta 1989 earthquake. It takes money to move, and those who are already poor find themselves even poorer after a disaster.
When Water Is Abundant…
In 1985 the Monongahela River flooded its valley, damaging homes downstream from Taggart Dam to Pittsburgh. It was an exceptional flood, occurring after an eleven-inch downpour. Many of the homes along the river had been hit by previous flooding, but this one was on the order of a 500-year or even a 1,000-year flood. You’ll still find people living in those homes damaged and repaired after the flood even though those same homes have been hit by floods on average every decade.
Recall that some 2,000 people died in Johnstown, Pennsylvania, during America’s most famous flood in 1889. Lesson learned? Nope. In 1936 two dozen people died in a flood that destroyed 77 buildings in the town and damaged another 3,000 structures. Lesson learned? Nope, again. In 1977 another Johnstown flood killed 85 and devastated businesses enough that the destruction initiated a diaspora of former residents who had little choice to move after the devastation.
The same phenomenon of people living in the path of recurrent disasters can be seen in Princeville, NC, which is off the Tar River, a stream along which the government constructed a levee after repeated flooding. When hurricanes Dennis and Floyd hit the area in 1999, the flooding was severe enough for the government to condemn the town. Yet, there are still residents living on or near that floodplain.
Is it emotional inertia? Financial inertia? What is it that keeps people in the paths of repeated calamities? Is it the belief that one is so invulnerable “it can’t happen to me”? Or is it an adherence to place?
Back to the Sulfur Mines
Some of St. Vincent’s residents did not move when geologists warned of an impending eruption. Then the ash started to fall. Nothing like an ongoing disaster with a strong hint of further calamity to get us humans to act and abandon places. Now, even the most stubborn residents are moving away from the danger zone, but we can guess that many who leave will return when they believe the threat has subsided. Those nine who died on Montserrat are examples.
We can understand their reluctance because we know how attached to place we can be. We humans, cognizant of our short lives, still cling to familiar places, even when those places pose a threat to our timelines.
And that adherence, I believe, supports my claim that place is primary over time.
*Place includes the universe's various forms of matter, including "at the kitchen table," "with John and Mary," and "on Mount Kilimanjaro."
If you’ve read the frontispiece to this website or the preface in the first volume of This Is Not Your Practice Life, you know the fundamental premise that underlies many of the 2,000 essays I’ve written for this website: Place is primary. And the argument, bear with the repetition here, is based on whether or not one can remember any “tIme” without place. * If you tell me about yesterday, or tomorrow, or ten years ago, you will make reference to place; it’s place where time occurs. No place, no time.
Today I have further proof that place is more important to us than time. It comes in the form of a reticence to move away from danger, danger as in earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, avalanches, tornadoes, and hurricanes. Specifically, that proof comes from St. Vincent, where La Soufrière is threatening a major eruption, its first since 1979. Some residents living in the shadow of the volcano decided to leave their places only after the ash started to fall; they were reluctant to leave when the government told them the volcano was showing signs of renewed activity and when their own eyes and ears confirmed the suspicions.
La Soufrière
Island hop in the West Indies and you’re bound to run into the name Soufrière. French, of course, dating back to the time of pirates and frigates, and Spain, France, and England in conflict over the New World, a back-and-forth series of conflicts that saw, for example, an exchange of St. Lucia some 17 times between French and English. Island Creole is evidence of the exchanges, and many islanders have two languages, one for tourists and the other for themselves. Among the Antilles—Lesser and Greater, Windward and Leeward—lying in a volcanic arc that began forming 40 million years ago, you’ll see either active or dormant volcanoes, or visit, as on Dominica, a town with the name that means “sulfur mine.”
And why sulfur? The element is typical of an area with volcanism. Volcanoes eject sulfur dioxide (SO2)—sometimes into the stratosphere to affect world temperatures. Because the Antilles are volcanic islands, sulfur is common; thus, the widespread use of the name Soufrière. Most of the volcanoes in the Antilles are sleeping, but every so often, even in modern times, one awakes to disturb human sleep. In 1999 Montserrat’s Soufrière Hills erupted, displacing residents and eventually killing nine of them who decided that they could determine their own destiny beneath an andesitic cone or stratovolcano. Whereas it’s true that a people might find a quiet and peaceful life in the shadow of such a dormant volcano whose soils provide a fertile farmland, it’s also true that any any time—not of the islanders’ choosing—the volcano can destroy anything or anyone at its base with a super hot and choking pyroclastic flow that descends from its summit faster than highway speeds (Think Vesuvius in 79 and Pompeii and Herculaneum and Mont Pelée in 1902 and Saint-Pierre).
Funny How Place Names Sometimes Reveal Realities
Pennsylvania has a town called Intercourse. No, it wasn’t named for what you are thinking though it would be foolish to think that the Amish don’t. (I’m ending the sentence with don’t to avoid saying the Amish aren’t not known for orgies). Sometimes names reveal something about the region’s geology, as Volcano, Hawaii (Duh, it’s Hawaii, isn’t it?), Rich Creek and and Poverty Stream, Virginia, the former running through limestone and the latter through shale, the former with permeable rock and abundant ground water and the latter with impermeable rock and less ground water, and finally, all those Soufrière places sitting in volcanic landscapes, one, for example, on Montserrat, one on the next island, St. Lucia, and one on St. Vincent, all volcanoes capable of erupting at any time and sending a nuée ardente (“fiery cloud”) of hot ash and poisonous gas down their slopes.
Move or Stay?
First Hypothetical: Take Poverty Stream in Virginia. The first Europeans who moved into the area of Virginia now crossed by Route 460 in the vicinity of the New River named those two areas on the basis of groundwater. The warping of rocks during the crush between Africa and North America had placed layers of shales and limestones on end in a “stack” like a piece of layer cake served with the top on the side. Some of those Europeans settled on land that was rich in groundwater resources (the limestone layers) whereas others settled on land that had little available groundwater. Now here’s the hypothetical. Given that you are a farmer and a second-generation resident, would you stay in the area of Poverty Stream to continue the family farm where groundwater was scarce or move?
Second Hypothetical: Take any of the Soufrière areas on the islands. Given that you are a “second generation resident” on an island with a history of volcanism, would you move or remain where the name Sulfur Mine indicates a potential for destruction and death? Recall that just as recently as 1979 St. Vincent’s La Soufrière erupted and Montserrat’s Soufrière Hills erupted two decades later. Would today’s 2024 eruption convince you to convince your children to move?
What is more important, the little time one has in a human life or the place where one lives?
Sure, Poverty Might Keep You in Poverty Stream, Virginia, but…
Obviously, moving isn’t very easy. Usually, there has to be strong motivation like a new job or a disaster that obliterates beyond repair or a strong desire to move coupled with financial freedom and a willingness to start anew. How many current Floridians were once residents of cold New York before they retired.
But even after a disaster, many choose to remain. New Orleans still has a large population after Hurricane Katrina, and San Francisco still has one after the Loma Prieta 1989 earthquake. It takes money to move, and those who are already poor find themselves even poorer after a disaster.
When Water Is Abundant…
In 1985 the Monongahela River flooded its valley, damaging homes downstream from Taggart Dam to Pittsburgh. It was an exceptional flood, occurring after an eleven-inch downpour. Many of the homes along the river had been hit by previous flooding, but this one was on the order of a 500-year or even a 1,000-year flood. You’ll still find people living in those homes damaged and repaired after the flood even though those same homes have been hit by floods on average every decade.
Recall that some 2,000 people died in Johnstown, Pennsylvania, during America’s most famous flood in 1889. Lesson learned? Nope. In 1936 two dozen people died in a flood that destroyed 77 buildings in the town and damaged another 3,000 structures. Lesson learned? Nope, again. In 1977 another Johnstown flood killed 85 and devastated businesses enough that the destruction initiated a diaspora of former residents who had little choice to move after the devastation.
The same phenomenon of people living in the path of recurrent disasters can be seen in Princeville, NC, which is off the Tar River, a stream along which the government constructed a levee after repeated flooding. When hurricanes Dennis and Floyd hit the area in 1999, the flooding was severe enough for the government to condemn the town. Yet, there are still residents living on or near that floodplain.
Is it emotional inertia? Financial inertia? What is it that keeps people in the paths of repeated calamities? Is it the belief that one is so invulnerable “it can’t happen to me”? Or is it an adherence to place?
Back to the Sulfur Mines
Some of St. Vincent’s residents did not move when geologists warned of an impending eruption. Then the ash started to fall. Nothing like an ongoing disaster with a strong hint of further calamity to get us humans to act and abandon places. Now, even the most stubborn residents are moving away from the danger zone, but we can guess that many who leave will return when they believe the threat has subsided. Those nine who died on Montserrat are examples.
We can understand their reluctance because we know how attached to place we can be. We humans, cognizant of our short lives, still cling to familiar places, even when those places pose a threat to our timelines.
And that adherence, I believe, supports my claim that place is primary over time.
*Place includes the universe's various forms of matter, including "at the kitchen table," "with John and Mary," and "on Mount Kilimanjaro."
RSS Feed