Celestial Surprises

Well, the hoopla over the solar eclipse is over and we are back to the usual grim news that it offered a brief respite from.

Here in DC the 89% event produced a late afternoon-like dimming that I viewed from my kitchen window. I didn’t bother looking at the sun. Not worth the price of glasses I’ll never use again when there are plenty good photos to be seen.

Somehow, at least for me, the big build up to such events detracts from the thrill and awe I imagine they must have inspired before our ancestors were able to predict them.

My most vivid memory of an eclipse is of one that took place in March of 1970. After a chilly winter in Philadelphia, my bride of less than one year and I longed for a getaway from the winter chill and the stress of my medical studies. Having enjoyed Colonial Williamsburg a few years earlier, I suggested we might spend a few days there. It turned out the weather there was warmer than usual, providing exactly the break we had hoped for.

Like many busy young people our age we did not spend a lot of time following the news and were blithely unaware of the total solar eclipse that would coincide with our trip. I vividly recall the awe and excitement I felt when, sitting outdoors during lunch at a Colonial themed restaurant, we became aware of a dimming of the sky that progressed to nightfall at mid-day. I have no doubt the surprise made it more of a thrilling experience.

Something similar happened a number of years earlier when, as pre-teens at summer camp in the Catskills, I and my bunkmates were led by our counselors on a hike and overnight sleep out on a nearby mountaintop. City slickers all, the counselors didn’t succeed in pitching our tents, so we slept under the open sky. It was at this camp that I had first experienced the true wonder of the night sky unsullied by city light, the sky denizens of the preindustrial world marveled at. That was a treat in itself, but there was more to come.

As is usual for kids our age, we lay awake for hours chatting among ourselves. Suddenly, the sky opened up with the Perseid meteor shower for which we had been totally unprepared. A spectacular display of celestial fireworks seemed to go on for hours while we argued among ourselves whether this was a natural event or an alien invasion. That year the shower that usually averages 50-100 meteors per hour fell at a rate of 150, and our location under a clear cloudless sky, devoid of any artificial light allowed us to view the event to its max. No natural event before or since occupies as vivid a memory for me as does that serendipitous show.

Such celestial phenomena are always exciting, but I can’t help but think that, perhaps like much that happens in life, they are all the more so when completely unexpected.