Kiwis and Fairy Bread

4-8 April 2024

It has been an unusual week in the Northeastern United States. A week when two geological occurrences brought its citizens together. Conversations amongst friends and strangers all began with “Did you feel? Did you see? Where were you? Is everything OK?” For once we were all bonded by experiences beyond our control. Experiences for which no harm was done, no people hurt. Where no one could doubt the scientific facts, nor the spiritual feeling of awe. It was refreshing. For years and decades hence we will all look back on this week. And remember.

On 4 April I was in Bay Head, sitting in the kitchen with my mother. I felt a strong shake across the floor and through my chair. It was elliptical, starting softly, getting stronger, softly again and then gone. My first thought was that it was my mother’s washing machine gone off kilter yet again. No, that wasn’t it. My mother went to the other room where my father had felt it in his feet. Like so many of us that day, I went outside and looked up and down the street. All was calm as usual. No trucks in sight. Could it have been an earthquake?

And then the texts started. My neighbor Luis was the first. Mike replied yes, it was strong. The house shook. He was spooked. While in Costa Rica in 2020, we had felt a 5.5. He said this was not as strong, but close.

I checked my Somerville’s Moms Facebook group (always the quickest source of local news). Yes, there was already chatter. I flipped channels on my parents television (which is always on) to find coverage. A 4.8 centered in Lebanon, just 10 miles from Somerville!

And that was the rest of the day. Phone calls and texts to all the family and friends. Reports on the telly from local geologists in home offices who were clearly enjoying their rare moment in the spotlight. Schools were temporarily evacuated, the structures checked. My cousins in Connecticut felt it strongly. Our daughter in Philly did not, but her husband did. It was the talk everywhere. And then at 6pm, the 4.0 aftershock. Which I did not feel because i was on the beach looking for signs of tsunami. Literally. Thankfully, there were none.

And yet it is proof that the earth, our planet, the very bones of it, are alive. I admit that it is very exciting for me to feel that. Somehow it gives me hope that we humans, clever as we are, are not the strongest force on the planet. She can still speak to us.

As did the sun and the moon just a few days later during “The Great North American Eclipse”. And it was powerful.

Mike and I had decided to make the trip to totality way back in 2017, during the other “Great North American Eclipse”. We had traveled only as far as Washington DC where we sat on the mall with Mike’s family and thousands of people looking up at the sky. Not in totality, the sight of the increasingly large bite taken out of the sun was still impressive. At the moment of totality far south of us, the birds went quiet.

This time we would not miss totality. With our son Ben and dear friends Kay, Steve, Kietra and Cary, we set about organizing our trip. We agreed that we wanted to be somewhere. And with lots of other people. It would be more than just a day trip. We would rent a house so that if the weather turned awful, we could at least be cozy playing board games.

We considered everywhere from Maine to Montreal to Niagara Falls. A look on VRBO found us a surprisingly good house in the New York Finger Lakes Region for a bargain price. We took it.

Mike and Kay took charge of finding an exact viewing destination. Ben, Kietra and Cary planned entertainment and desserts. I organized the meals, taking into consideration vegans and omnivores and everything in between. We read every eclipse travel article. Read the weather forecasts in minute detail. Prepared for every scenario.

Sunday was a beautiful day to travel. Frequent highway signs flashed “Total Eclipse Traffic. Leave early. Stay late”. Wouldn’t that cause it’s own issues, I wondered?

Mike, Ben, Cary and I lunched at The Corning Museum of Glass where there are near constant demonstrations of the art of making glass. Ben and I were even able to take a class. With colorful glass rods we were guided in making small twisted pendants. It was like working with hot caramel.

I have quite a collection of art glass, but couldn’t resist this gift shop of all glass gift shops (sorry Murano, Venice!). I am so glad I did because we ran into some friends! Last fall we’d met Kelly and Dan at a Philadelphia murder mystery party produced by our daughter’s theatre company. It was great to see them again.

Arriving at our rental on Keuka Lake we felt very fortunate indeed. The Bluff’s Charm had charm to spare! Kay, Steve and Kietra were already settled in. An evening of food, games and star gazing ensued. Orion was far to the west, leaving us for the summer. The North Star, Big Dipper and Mars were all visible. If only the sky would stay this clear through tomorrow.

Watching the sunrise was a good test of our eclipse glasses. But the cloud cover report wasn’t good. Cary and Mike checked forecasts across the region and the times to drive someplace where the skies were clear. In the end, we stuck with the plan and left for Fair Haven Beach State Park.

This park on Lake Ontario was already filling up when we arrived at 9:30 and staked our claim in picnic area on the edge of a pond. It had a good view of the western sky. Clouds were coming in but they were thin. Patiently we waited. At 2:08 my brother texted me from Ohio. The eclipse had begun. A minute later it was visible to us. Cheers erupted around the park.

The sun was a pale disk of white gradually shrinking as the dark shadow of the moon moved onto it. Taking larger and larger bites. Each time the clouds cleared cheering would erupt at the north end of the park and work its way around the pond. Like a wave in a football stadium.

At last view, the sun looked like a bright crescent moon.

Isn’t it amazing? I mean truly incredible? The shadow of our moon is exactly the size of the view of our sun through the earths atmosphere. What are the astronomical chances of that happening anywhere in the universe? And that on this planet there would be enough diverse life forms to observe it? To be affected by it? I say again, the earth, the universe, is a truly remarkable place.

At about 3:00 the sky was visibly darker. The temperature was cooler. The ducks and birds started to quiet down and go to sleep. Very gradually twilight was falling. It felt like an approaching thunder storm. Then very quickly it was night.

It was 3:19. Complete darkness. So dark I could barely see Mike, Ben and Cary right in front of me. We looked up at the dark, thickly clouded sky. No stars, no moon, no sun, no light. Only the deepest of blue gray. All around us the circular horizon was yellow. Bright yellow with shades of peach. We huddled in together in an embrace. This was a moment to share.

The crowd cheered. A canon boomed. Fireworks sparkled. Voices were subdued.

We were, all of us, in a perfect line: Sun, Moon, Us, Earth.

All of us enveloped in a profound silence that buzzed with excitement. Every second savored. Every site and sound catalogued in our minds to be brought back minutes, hours, days, decades hence.

And exactly three and a half minutes later, (although it did seem much longer), the light returned. Returned much more quickly than it had disappeared. Cheers erupted once again.

And that was it. No , we did not see the halo, nor the diamond ring. The clouds were so thick, they kept hidden the moon as it’s shadow continued to pass over the sun, returning it to the full bright disc in the sky. It was suddenly just a cool and cloudy, ordinary day. A day that was preceded by an event most extraordinary.

The talk amongst us naturally turned to the next full solar eclipse. Iceland 2026? For Kay, Steve and Kietra, that is a possibility. Queenstown, NZ or Sydney 2028? Mike and I do like that idea! But would we enjoy the depths of a July winter?

The next Great North American Eclipse will be in 2044. I will be 77 years old., Mike will be 80. Will we want to travel far from our home to chance getting a glimpse of that halo and gargantuan diamond ring? As I glance on the diamond ring on my finger, I wonder. Instead of traveling will we, like my parents the other day, be content to be in our driveways. Sitting on comfortable lawn chairs, a drink and sandwiches beside us. Happy to be in the company of our daughter, with our son on the phone, describing to us the darkness as it descends where he has traveled to.

You know, it doesn’t really matter. I am satisfied.

This week, when I look at the sun, I feel a connection to it. More than I had before. We shared something. Me, my friends, my family, and all the strangers who cheered, we are all connected.

It is great indeed.