Falling Into the Sky: An Eclipse Story

 

If Texas has a heart, it would be Lampasas

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.

 

 

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

 

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.

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.

 

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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Near to my Heart

Stylized view of Corpus

One thing I may never get used to as I age is how time seems to warp. In school, a year took forever. Now they fly past like the clouds in the windows outside my seat at 34,000 feet. When I was a boy and I got to fly down to Corpus Christi, I pretended the clouds were giant space ships and my shuttle craft was dodging around the armada amassed in the nearby star system. I’ve always had an active imagination, and I always loved flying to South Texas.

The last time I flew to Corpus Christi was in 1990. That is when we moved my grandmother to Dallas. Corpus is so full of rich, wonderful memories- walking to the corner grocery store with my grandfather, holding his hand, which to do so, my arm raised up to meet his. The cicadas sang in the trees, leaving their brown shells on the swing set, in the bushes, and even on the side of the house. I would help my grandparents in the garden behind the garage, its bounty would become fried okra, boiled greens, green beans and potatoes- side dishes to the best home-fried chicken and skillet corn bread made with bacon grease. It was always amazing how they could gather so many vegetables for all of us.

My parents were married in Corpus. I love viewing the old photos, seeing my mom’s family there in Corpus, all so young, along with my dad’s family, who had all grown up in that house. There were so few times the two families were together. I loved how the back yard was always the prime backdrop for family photos. I remember my grandmother telling me how, when they moved into this house when it was new, across the street was farm land.

My childhood trips to Corpus with my cousin were the best. She and I would play restaurant in the back yard, or bus company in the dining room. Sometimes, I took the bus to and from Houston, so I had a fondness for Trailway’s buses. As I got older, I would fly down. It used to be so inexpensive that I could buy my own tickets from what I’d saved from my allowance.

Departing Corpus in the early morning

When I saw that I had a Corpus layover in my line for the month, I had to call my Aunt to find out when it was that Memaw moved to Dallas. We struggled, but finally determined that she moved to Dallas just in time for her 80^thbirthday. Subtracting when she died, we determined that she moved in 1990, and this where the time warp freaks me out.

It’s been twenty-eight years since I was in Corpus. I was twenty-three then. There have been more years that I’ve been away from Corpus than when I went to visit my grandparents. It just doesn’t seem possible. Was it that long ago I was in the rear-facing seat of their huge land yacht, also known as a station wagon, with my cousin, waving at motorists behind us, while listening to the Police sing ‘Every Breath you Take’ on the radio? Was it that long ago we’d drive to Mustang island to swim in the surf and languish as I’d look back to see my grandfather waving me back in, fearing I was out too far in the surf? Was it that long ago we’d come in from the back yard, back full of sweat, to hear the string of bells hanging on the door sill chime as the door closed, as our eyes adjusted to the darkness inside, the way it was kept, in order to keep the heat at bay as the window air conditioning units strummed in unison? Was it all that long ago?

It’s nice that these memories still keep me company and have me longing for the more simpler times, when Memaw would brush my hair, my grandfather would teach me how to play dominoes, and we’d drive to the T-heads to go fishing. When I feel old, I think my cousin, Leslie, and how we would have so much fun together.

Penguin on the T-head

Corpus Christi is near and dear to my heart. I’ve always loved the city by the bay and that iconic bridge over the ship channel. After Pa died and Memaw moved to Dallas, I no longer had a reason to visit. I’ve missed it terribly. The house my grandparents bought across from the farm lands, which soon became homes, where we’d wash off in the back yard from the garden hose after returning from the beach. The same yard where we’d hide Easter eggs in the bushes (one year, finding an egg overlooked from the year prior!) is still there- its trees taller. That old house is just how I remember it, still white with green shudders, just as they left it only, it’s not in as good a shape and is showing its age.

Shrimp boat

I have another trip to Corpus in a few weeks. I hope I can get back many more times. It’s such a bitter-sweet trip. I didn’t realize that on the ride to our hotel we’d pass the old bank building where Memaw used to work and would love showing me off to her friends. I saw it as we buzzed past on the freeway, pointing it out to my crew, “Oh, that’s the building where my grandmother used to work.” Of course, the bank has changed names.

The lump in my throat nearly brought a tear to my eye as I could see my grandparents, with their white hair and smiles, looking down on me standing in the back yard in the shade of the trees planted when my father and his siblings were infants. And those bells that hung on the door sill that rang as the door opened or closed, now hang on the sill of the door in my own home. We may leave the past, but the past never fully leaves us. I’m just fortunate to have such a rich and happy past that I bring along with me. A past that is still very much alive in Corpus Christi.