Iceland & Me: A Volcanic Awakening
The earth has changed, and so have I
It erupted!
For weeks I’ve been waiting for another Icelandic eruption. For weeks I’ve kept watch via a YouTube live cam. The split screen was in the background as I wrote, read, did chores, talked on the phone. I’ve studied the area’s earthquake chart, alert for the swarm of small quakes that might precede an eruptive event. I’ve watched updates from geologists, who shared their informed opinions on what might be taking place beneath the earth.
They — and I — were disappointed several weeks in a row, after forecasts of a likely eruption led to nothing.
The magma chamber was filling — this much we knew. Around 400,000 square meters of molten earth were pressing into it every day, literally uplifting the land. In December, January and February the chamber had reached its limit, and the result had been an eruption — fissures opening, lava spilling out.
This time, though, geologists were stumped. Early in March, some of the magma had moved underground into another area — an “intrusion” event — and there was some question as to whether this would change the eruption timeline, a monthly pattern that had started to seem almost predicable . . .
Do I sound like an expert? I’m not. My interest in geology is old, but my education is baby-new. I’ve only just begun to learn about the foundation of my home planet — rocks, minerals, geologic formations. I’m in my 60s, for heaven’s sake. What took me so long?
Stone walls
I’m serious when I say I’ve always been fascinated by geology. My earliest treasures were rocks — a thunder egg begged off my mother’s uncle when I was 5, an obsidian spearhead found at age 8, “potato rocks” scavenged at the beach, mystifying stones pulled from my parents’ backyard. I held onto them all — nearly a hundred pounds worth — hoping to someday find the answers I lacked. And decades passed . . .
Because there were also barriers to my infant passion. My parents were Christians — the sort who believed that Earth is only 6,000 years old. As a teen, I remember wondering how I could pursue geology without abandoning my religious training. My spiritual perimeters were small.
As were my family’s. We girls married young — careers weren’t a priority, and college wasn’t a possibility. Looking back, though, I can see that there was another factor in play, as well. Somewhere along the way — between my challenging childhood, my early marriage, and the needs of our three children — I forgot that my life should sometimes be about me. I’d come to believe that my efforts — my hobbies, even — should primarily benefit others.
Rocks didn’t meet that criteria.
So I waited. I bided my time. Eventually, I thought, someone would need me to pursue my passion. My husband would suddenly find he loved rocks, and I’d be his faithful girl Friday. Or one of my children would show an interest, and I would step in to support them. When none of that transpired, I turned my attention to my grandchildren, planning to pounce on the smallest of signs . . .
Last autumn I surrendered. I woke up and realized that no one would ever need me to take up geology. No one would ever give me the permission I sought. My life was passing, my opportunities were shrinking, and if I was going pursue my interest, it would have to be for me, and me alone.
For Christmas I asked for geology books and equipment, and my family (bless them) obliged. I dug out my old rock collection, and peered at the familiar stones through my new hand lens. I came across Shawn Willsey, a geology professor with an educational YouTube channel, and watched his series on rock and mineral identification, on “Random Roadcuts” and geologic formations.
I peered at my rocks again.
All eyes on Iceland
It was Willsey’s updates on the recent Icelandic eruptions that tugged my attention that way. After the February 8 eruption, I found myself watching online live feeds, waiting with thousands of interested others. To me, it felt somehow like an act of faith — a commitment to this new, shockingly self-indulgent pursuit.
And when the eruption was delayed — when day after day passed with no earthquake swarm, no spewing lava — a part of me felt chastened. My interest, inexperience and obsession — all silly. Of course there would be no volcanic eruption. I, by myself, had cursed it.
Then, on Saturday afternoon, March 16, 2024, I was talking on the phone with my daughter when I glanced up and saw on the TV before me a sudden, bright fountain of magma.
The eruption was in progress, molten lava exploding into the air. Within minutes, I saw the fissure zip open, a living, dancing scar on the landscape — flames of incredible weight. The lava began to pool and flow.*
And how did I feel in that moment, and afterward, watching that awesome display? Exhilarated. (My husband tells me I screamed.) It’s hard for my limited mind to believe that, dynamic as that magma is, it isn’t also sentient. It must be alive — that’s what my brain says. The force and heat — wholly indifferent to anything human, to weather, to season, to time of day, place . . .
I’m blown away by this massive eruption — by my luck at being able to see it.
I’m blown away by the way life can change. One moment, the landscape can look flat and stagnant. The next, something brand new exists.
*Thankfully, no humans were injured in this recent eruption, and no structures have thus far been destroyed.
