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| Eclipse with Avan, Brook and Brenham |
Ruminating on the summers of my youth always brings to mind so many wonderful memories. Spending time with my grandparents on summer break was always dear to me. My paternal grandparents were quite different from my maternal ones. And they lived at opposite ends of Texas.
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| The sky during the eclipse |
Dad’s parents grew up in the hill country of rural Texas. They moved to Corpus before my father was born, so that’s where he was raised. Only now do I appreciate how living through the dust bowl days affected them. They reused everything and were always conservative with their spending.
Mom’s parents married after the war and were twenty-some years younger than Dad’s folks. They lived in the small town of Borger in the Texas Panhandle. Growing up in Houston, I loved being in the small town, especially at night. There were more stars to see, and every summer there were fantastic full moons.
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| The back yard I loved in Borger, TX |
When there was a meteor shower, Poppy set up the recliners in the back yard. He faced them south, away from the house, towards Houston. We polished off a Coke float, and he told me wonderful stories. Sometimes I fell asleep, but he pretended I hadn’t, and when a ‘star’ streaked across the sky, he woke me by exclaiming, “There’s one! Look at it go!” He also taught me that streaking meteors aren’t really falling stars. Poppy was the smartest man I knew.
Dad was smart, as well. My parents divorced before I was two, so I would see him each summer, as well. We always searched the skies together. I attribute my fascination of aviation to when he lived in the Chicago area. We sat outside and watched planes fly overhead to land at O’Hare airport. He made cherry Kool Aid for me, while he sipped gin and tonic. On his back patio we ogled the colorful Braniff planes. There were times I thought I could reach up and grab them from the skies.
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| The plains outside of Borger |
When I got older, Dad moved to Albuquerque. I used to love hearing Buggs Bunny say, “I shouldn’t have made that left turn at Albuquerque.” Silly rabbit. Summertime in New Mexico meant camp outs, where the sky was vast and dark, full of stars and wonder. Dad pointed out satellites to me. I never knew you could see satellites in space until sitting next to a fire in the middle of nowhere. I would lie on the ground and wish I could fall into the sky, so I could see the stars up close.
When I got to college, I overheard that an awesome professor of Astronomy taught the best class. With promises of enthusiasm and humor in his lectures, and my budding lust for astronomy, I attempted to register for his class. I was crushed that I didn’t meet the prerequisites, but found a loophole that got me in. Astronomy was a difficult and technical course. I struggled, but managed Bs in the two semesters I was in his class. Looking back, it was certainly in the top three of my favorite courses. That was so long ago, some of what I learned has turned out to be untrue.
I’ve always had a special appreciation for the celestial. Blood moons, blue moons, harvest moons. Lunar eclipses, solar eclipses. I recall living in Maryland, and the wonder of looking into the heavens to see Haley’s Comet. I’ve always been a city boy, but the worst part of living in the city is the limited view of the stars at night.
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| The eclipse seen in the windshield of Brook's car |
Then I discovered Burning Man, an arts festival in the Nevada desert. I’ve never seen the Milky Way as bright from a moonless desert the week before it opened, miles from artificial light. On my bike, I rode deep into the desert. I turned out the light and peddled in pitch darkness, scared that I might run into something, knowing there was nothing to run into. In total darkness I could hardly see the ground. And Mars was out. Jupiter and Saturn are easy to spot at night. Mercury and Venus can be seen only at dusk, or as the sun rises, since they are between Earth and Sol. But Mars was new to me. And so red.
I didn’t drive north to see the eclipse totality in 2017, which I regretted after seeing photos and video of it. There have been only three eclipses in Texas in my lifetime, and two during my fourteen years living in California. None of those were total eclipses, and images and video from total eclipses were much more rare in the days prior to everyone owning a smart phone. I had no idea how magical a total eclipse was. There was no way I was going to miss the one in 2024. My home was only three hours away.
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| Patiently waiting |
My brother and his family live in Austin, the part that was going to see a total eclipse. But I wanted as much time as possible in totality, so searched for a place along the center line. The joy I felt when discovering that the center line went right through Lampasas, Texas, just over an hour northwest, in the Texas Hill Country.
Not only would I witness my first total eclipse, but my paternal grandmother grew up in Lampasas. She and my grandfather are there now, in the family plot with aunts, uncles, cousins, and the great-grandfather I never go to meet—a doctor. I was going to experience a total eclipse in the town in which my grandmother grew up and is buried.
I was crushed at seeing the weather forecast. They first thought Texas might have the best chance at clear skies. But a week and half out, the forecast changed to rain and clouds, due to a weather system about to hit the West Coast. I had to come to terms with the possibility of only experiencing the darkness. An eclipse without seeing the sun—they said it was still awesome, but I had a hard time buying it.
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| Great show |
There was much fanfare in the weeks leading up to the event. Along with lectures on the dangers of looking at the sun and the value of using solar glasses, there was speculation of massive traffic jams and throngs of spectators. Everyone and anyone was expected to converge on the towns in the path of totality. Schools would close and businesses would shutter. It was this close to being declared an official state holiday, so I assumed my nephews, ages ten and twelve, would be off from school, especially since they both were schooled in the zone of totality.
Not only was I wrong, but my brother informed me that he would not be free from work, albeit, he worked from home. For weeks I envisioned driving to Lampasas with my brother and his family to celebrate the majesty of a total eclipse. None of us had experienced totality. I was relieved that my sister-in-law was interested in joining me.
At the last minute,
it was decided that this was the type of event worthy of keeping the
boys from school. Expecting huge crowds, we loaded up the car early,
and took off for the Hill Country. We rolled into Lampasas with the
same amount of traffic one might expect on any given Saturday. I
guess the hype scared people away. No worries.
Still unsure of exactly where to go when in Lampasas, I discovered a sculpture park a few blocks from the courthouse. We drove there to find a wonderful park with green grass, shady trees, and sulfur springs flowing into a creek. There was plenty of parking along the road, and an empty tree mere yards away. This we claimed with our chairs, a cooler, and our eclipse glasses.
That morning, the
boys were unenthusiastic about the event to where their mother
threatened to take them to school after all, even though it meant
being late. Once they were in the park on a gorgeous day, they were
happy. What made me happy was seeing huge patches of blue sky among
all the threatening clouds. If we were lucky, we’d get to see the
eclipse after all.
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| Lampasas during totality |
It amazes me that we can predict an eclipse. Even more so, that we know where it will be and at exactly what time. It all went as scheduled. At the foretold time, the moon touched the sun and began to move in between it and us. When it reached the halfway point, I took a walk around the park searching for great photos of crescent shadows.
Then came the time for totality. It got darker and darker. I noticed street lights coming on. There were no animals to witness—not a single person had brought their dog. Brook and I wondered what they would do, and we never got to find out. The clouds moved quickly, at times blocked our view of the sun. But mostly they were thin enough to see the show, as the moon blocked more and more of the sun.
When totality hit, the crowd in the park began to cheer. I wasn’t expecting that, but I loved it and joined in. I removed my glasses to be bowled over by the darkness. It was real. It actually was as dark as night in the middle of the day, just like they said it would be. And there was the moon, wearing the sun like a swim cap. Thanks to the thin clouds, I got some decent pictures, but mostly I left my phone alone and watched. When the sun began to peek out, we put our glasses back on and observed the diamond ring effect. Brook especially enjoyed that. Girls love their diamonds.
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| My shot of the eclipse |
Had I remained in Houston I would not have seen much because of the clouds. As for my brother, the clouds moved in just before totality, so he didn’t get to see it. Providence took us to Lampasas, a special place to me.
The boys were elated to have witnessed it, and I was delighted that it was as exciting as their Uncle Penguin promised. If they are anything like me, this celestial event is something they can look back on when they are my age with happy memories. They never got to have one of Poppy’s famous Coke floats, or the opportunity to hear him tell stories at night in his back yard under a sky full of stars. I’m not sure if they ever searched for satellites next to a camp fire. But I know they will never forget the time they saw a total eclipse with their mom and Uncle Penguin in the town by that smelly creek.
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