Solar/Lunar Event

Beginning of August 2017 Solar Eclipse in Beatrice, Nebraska
photo by Michael Farley

Solar/Lunar “Event”

memoir
by Gregory E. Larson

           In today’s cycle of internet and cable news, the 2017 solar eclipse of August 21^st is now ancient history. I’m sure that millions of the protective glasses have been thrown into the trash. How sad. I can only hope the eclipse caused most of us to pause and contemplate the magnitude, the precision and the beauty of the cosmic display.

Crowd awaits solar eclipse at Homestead National Monument
photo by Gregory E. Larson

          Thinking the odds of it being clearer and drier in Beatrice, Nebraska, than in Kansas City, I jumped at the chance to go there, but in the end we barely saw it through the skin of the raggedy clouds which hung above the Homestead National Monument west of Beatrice. Everything seems to be considered an event these days, including the weather, and the gathering of over 10,000 people on the edge of the Great Plains to witness the eclipse was definitely an event.

James inspects Michael's camera
photo by Linda Anneberg

          Our group of relatives included an astronomer (Richard Henry and spouse Judy), a photographer (Michael Farley and spouse Linda), myself, and my Grandson, James. Richard answered the scientific questions. Michael set up his Nikon camera and big lens to record the eclipse.
          Every cloud listed in meteorology textbooks was visible that morning. We nervously watched a stalled front float ever so slowly towards us from the south. An hour before the beginning of the eclipse, a low, dark, ceiling of clouds parked above us and blotted out the sun. Totality of clouds is what I called it. After inspecting the horizon to the south and west, I predicted the viewing would get better as the moon began to slide in front of the sun.


An untimely low ceiling of clouds arrives
photo by Gregory E. Larson

          The crowds cheered each time the sun became visible. The edge of clouds snaked above us, and there were several ten-minute periods of viewing while the countryside reflected a dim translucence. Just prior to the total eclipse, a portion of the cloud blocked our view, and the waiting became unbearable.


        I listened to a couple from Beaumont, Texas, who sat near us. With a pronounced drawl, the wife said, “Sweetheart, we drove all the way from Texas to see this and what do we get? CLOUDS! Was it worth it to come here? I don’t think so.”

          The husband responded, “Hon, it is what it is. Just enjoy the outdoors and relax. I can’t do nothin’ about the weather.”

          Just two minutes prior to the total eclipse the clouds parted, the crowd cheered, and then we all started acting a bit crazy. Everyone experienced the darkening and the aurora in their own way. We looked like we were in a drug-induced stupor, turning every which way and saying, “Wow!” and, “Unbelievable!” It seemed as if God used a giant dimmer to turn off the sunlight and throw a sixty-mile diameter pancake of darkness on top of us. We were able to see bits of brightened sky on the horizon.

A pancake of darkness slides over us during the total eclipse
photo by Gregory E. Larson

          Crickets chirped. Birds became quiet. Headlights shone on the highway.           We removed our protective glasses and were able to safely look directly at the full eclipse and the corona. James and I stood in awe, while he referenced his mom, dad, brothers and sisters who were at a different location and said, “I hope my family gets to see this.”

Total eclipse viewed from Beatrice, Nebraska
photo by Michael Farley

          Then came the spark of the diamond ring, at the point in which the first part of the sun peeks around the edge of the moon. It was a white-hot light of utter clarity — something akin to the spark of an arc welder. We clearly saw our shadow outlines on the ground, and the light continued to grow in its intensity.

White-hot spark at the end of totality called "the diamond ring"
photo by Michael Farley

          The crowds cheered again, and the birds in the Osage orange trees chirped their morning songs. The mellow softness of the light on the countryside continued to brighten and passers-by talked excitedly. The Texas wife was elated and shared with all of us, “I am SO glad we came! It is indescribable. You have to see it to believe it.”
          That summed up the importance of seeing the totality of the eclipse. My limited words don’t do it justice. All I know is that anyone who has stood and looked at the corona will never forget it.

The light returns to the Nebraska countryside
photo by Gregory E. Larson