Midnight Mutterings | Eclipsed

||| MIDNIGHT MUTTERINGS by JACKIE BATES |||

No, I’m not headed for wherever it is that the people who do go there will experience a total eclipse of the sun next Tuesday, April 8, 2024. Because I have moved so much in my earlier life, I am content with having solar eclipses come to me. I recall four solar eclipses which I have confirmed on the almighty internet. All four were total eclipses, near, but not necessarily exactly where I was at the time. There is another kind of eclipse called Annular, which occurs when the moon is too far from the Earth to completely cover the sun, which leaves a ring of light around the sun. Those are more common closer to the poles than the Equator when the moon is in it’s apogee, meaning when it is at its farthest from the Earth. More about the moon later…

Meanwhile back to ‘my’ solar eclipses: The first was in July 20, 1963, before some of you were born and when I was a newly minted adult in New Hampshire for the summer. In nearby Maine (everything is nearby in New England) the eclipse was total. Where we were, it got cooler and darker, and was a little bit unnerving, even if we were expecting it. We knew enough not to look directly at the eclipse, but had no special glasses to wear. There was discussion of using smoked glass to look through, but no one knew exactly how smoky glass should be and how long it was safe to look at the disappearing sun. We did see some outlines of the light and dark on the ground, though, and it was easy to imagine how frightening such an event would have been to people who didn’t know it was coming. And more importantly, that it would go away in a matter of minutes. There are apparently a number of references to both solar and lunar eclipses in both the Old and New Testaments of the Bible, but my religious education is too spotty for me to remember any of it and it is too late for me to look that up tonight.

The second, and most interesting solar eclipse in my life came on March 7, 1970 in Chapel Hill, North Carolina. My memory is that it was late afternoon, but I’m not sure how to confirm that. I was outside with my children, son barely six and daughter almost eighteen months. My son had learned at school to make a viewing thing with two index cards, with a small hole in the top card, that you hold in front of your body and focus the sun so it shines through the hole and makes a perfect image of the eclipse on the lower card. We were fully equipped with this scientific equipment, which requires two free hands. My daughter was in a stroller for that reason and also so I wouldn’t have to chase her instead of the eclipse’s image. There was bright sun and the birds were especially noisy, as if they knew there was something important going on. Almost suddenly, it seemed, everything got dark and the birds went to bed. I looked at the baby who had tilted her head to her shoulder and was fast asleep. In a matter of minutes the light returned, the birds started shouting and the baby woke up, yawned mightily, and clearly asked for breakfast with the few words she had at her disposal.

My third solar eclipse was in Ellensburg, Washington, in February, 1979. My office was in the lab school building at the college and some clever adult had found a lot of child sized snowshoes and just before the anticipated eclipse, the children were outside sitting close together in the snow putting on snowshoes. The sky darkened just in time for them to get up and start milling around getting farther and farther apart. From my view from a second floor widow it looked like a giant egg had hatched out insects that were scattering. No cell phones and I hadn’t thought to bring a camera, so I have no photos of this hatching event in the snow with the returning sun making everything a glittering, magic scene.

The last was right here on Orcas Island on August 21, 2017, when a lot of us gathered on the Library lawn and shared some protective glasses provided by the library. It was my first eclipse in which I could look directly at the sun, which was truly magic. Someones took magnificent photographs, as well a videos of the eclipse that were later displayed at the library. Perhaps you were in that crowd on the lawn or one of the photographers who can correct me on my details. Perhaps you are on your way to Tuesday’s total eclipse and will return to share your experience.

About the shrinking moon: It’s entirely too late now, even for this night owl. I’ll save that for another column if it isn’t eclipsed from my memory by the wild forces of time and nature.