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| Moment of totality, Aug. 21, 2017, Philomath, Ore. |
No matter what the experts said, I had no idea what to expect the morning of Aug. 21. I took my seat at a friend’s house off Alsea Hwy at 9 a.m. We sat in the open air, surrounded by grassy fields in a yard filled with flower beds, ornamental bushes, and fruit trees. Perched on the hillside, we had a direct view of the sun.
Nature was loud. Birds chirped, chickens clucked, cows mooed, dogs barked. Cars sped by. Life was as usual. And then it was not.
The moment the sun began to black out, as if Mother Nature had taken a bite out of a cookie, my imagination began to swirl. Questions I’d never pondered cluttered my mind: What would our world be like with no sun? Would we even be able to survive? Which plants or animals would disappear first?
As the moon’s shadow blocked more of the sun, we felt the temperature drop. It was then I realized how even the smallest portions of the sun radiate such immense amounts of heat.
Halfway to totality, shadows from the leaves of the many plants around us began to cast mini moons everywhere. We scattered like kids chasing fireflies, catching thumbnail moons in our hands, bewildered by the phenomena. Our skin turned the color of tangerines and gold, a sun-kissed glow I’d never seen before.
Our ISO glasses allowed us to see what we normally could not: We saw the sun’s pulse, we saw its rays, we saw the motion of its fire. Its edges looked like melting wax, a burning rim spitting its heat downward. With my new eyes, I realized, each day as we go about our business, the sun shines and we miss the magic of its reign, the dance of its light.
Just before totality, the only traffic left on the road were semi-trucks. They remained on schedule, it appeared, but I wondered if that was the driver’s choice. Humans put so much emphasis on time and duty. We put value on minutes and tasks, and yet, this event was something most will never see again. Was it not important enough to take a break, pause your duty, and see the value of this time?
As the last sliver of sun shone, the crickets sang the song of night. The birds returned to their nests. Grasshoppers jumped back to wherever they came from. Bees disappeared. Perhaps the creatures were confused, or perhaps they were paying attention to instincts humans often fail to recognize.
Then, day became night.
The sky turned a deep blue twilight, as if the depths of the ocean had suddenly been placed on top of us. For that minute and 15 seconds, stars sparkled in the day-night sky. Jupiter showed itself. The crickets ended their song. The breeze stopped. The world was at a stand-still.
In the busiest times of the day—those when there is sunlight—we are accustomed to sound. Sirens, horns, voices, wildlife. In the moment of totality, silence had never been so silent. Not a car was on the road. Those truckers must have taken that break after all.
I sat in my chair, jaw-dropped, transported to a world I’d never been to. I stared at a different sun, a different sky, hearing the different sound of nothingness.
In that moment, I realized that everything is relative to what we know. And in that moment of totality I knew nothing about anything. Yet a feeling of serenity consumed me. I could not speak, and that was fine, I had no words to describe how I felt. I knew I didn’t want to miss the moment. I wanted to capture its essence. I wanted to experience a world different from our reality.
As the sun reappeared, those mini moon shadows returned, but they were reversed. The sun revealed itself from the opposite side of where Mother Nature had first taken her bite from the cookie. I didn’t expect reversed shadows, but then again, I had no expectations at all.
For the second time that day, birds came out of their nests. Dogs barked. The temperature rose. Cars returned. The sun became whole. Life became normal again on a day that was anything but.
Experiencing the total eclipse was one of my life’s monumental moments. A time I felt so small that I wanted to howl at the moon like a wild animal. A time that was invaluable and worth stopping for. Because when this life is over, we only have our memories; moments like the morning of Aug. 21.
Nature was loud. Birds chirped, chickens clucked, cows mooed, dogs barked. Cars sped by. Life was as usual. And then it was not.
The moment the sun began to black out, as if Mother Nature had taken a bite out of a cookie, my imagination began to swirl. Questions I’d never pondered cluttered my mind: What would our world be like with no sun? Would we even be able to survive? Which plants or animals would disappear first?
As the moon’s shadow blocked more of the sun, we felt the temperature drop. It was then I realized how even the smallest portions of the sun radiate such immense amounts of heat.
Halfway to totality, shadows from the leaves of the many plants around us began to cast mini moons everywhere. We scattered like kids chasing fireflies, catching thumbnail moons in our hands, bewildered by the phenomena. Our skin turned the color of tangerines and gold, a sun-kissed glow I’d never seen before.
Our ISO glasses allowed us to see what we normally could not: We saw the sun’s pulse, we saw its rays, we saw the motion of its fire. Its edges looked like melting wax, a burning rim spitting its heat downward. With my new eyes, I realized, each day as we go about our business, the sun shines and we miss the magic of its reign, the dance of its light.
Just before totality, the only traffic left on the road were semi-trucks. They remained on schedule, it appeared, but I wondered if that was the driver’s choice. Humans put so much emphasis on time and duty. We put value on minutes and tasks, and yet, this event was something most will never see again. Was it not important enough to take a break, pause your duty, and see the value of this time?
As the last sliver of sun shone, the crickets sang the song of night. The birds returned to their nests. Grasshoppers jumped back to wherever they came from. Bees disappeared. Perhaps the creatures were confused, or perhaps they were paying attention to instincts humans often fail to recognize.
Then, day became night.
The sky turned a deep blue twilight, as if the depths of the ocean had suddenly been placed on top of us. For that minute and 15 seconds, stars sparkled in the day-night sky. Jupiter showed itself. The crickets ended their song. The breeze stopped. The world was at a stand-still.
In the busiest times of the day—those when there is sunlight—we are accustomed to sound. Sirens, horns, voices, wildlife. In the moment of totality, silence had never been so silent. Not a car was on the road. Those truckers must have taken that break after all.
I sat in my chair, jaw-dropped, transported to a world I’d never been to. I stared at a different sun, a different sky, hearing the different sound of nothingness.
In that moment, I realized that everything is relative to what we know. And in that moment of totality I knew nothing about anything. Yet a feeling of serenity consumed me. I could not speak, and that was fine, I had no words to describe how I felt. I knew I didn’t want to miss the moment. I wanted to capture its essence. I wanted to experience a world different from our reality.
As the sun reappeared, those mini moon shadows returned, but they were reversed. The sun revealed itself from the opposite side of where Mother Nature had first taken her bite from the cookie. I didn’t expect reversed shadows, but then again, I had no expectations at all.
For the second time that day, birds came out of their nests. Dogs barked. The temperature rose. Cars returned. The sun became whole. Life became normal again on a day that was anything but.
Experiencing the total eclipse was one of my life’s monumental moments. A time I felt so small that I wanted to howl at the moon like a wild animal. A time that was invaluable and worth stopping for. Because when this life is over, we only have our memories; moments like the morning of Aug. 21.
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