“Here comes the sun, doo-doo-doo-doo
Here comes the sun
And I say, it’s alright
Little darlin, it’s been a long, cold, lonely winter
Little darlin, it feels like years since it’s been here.” — George Harrison
Dateline: April 8, 2024, Williston, Vt., where the sun, after spending a few hours hiding, is sinking low over the Adirondacks across Lake Champlain. The birds are quiet now, the forest creatures are settling down, and at day’s end, I am trying to put it all together in my head. It’s a lot.
First, any eclipse involves a lot of math. Scientists measure angles, crunch numbers, and run code, all to figure out the exact details. I admire that talent because I am arithmetically challenged unless it involves a game of blackjack or tip math at a restaurant. I didn’t have to know any math today, though. Today was about laughing with dear friends, watching the sky turn a magically eerie color, and singing along with the Beatles.
I’ve known this eclipse was coming for more than a year. A friend I went to college with told me about it, so of course, we had to make a trip happen. Vermont weather is unpredictable at the best of times, but in early spring, it could be anything from blue skies to clouds to a couple of feet of snow. We lucked out and got a perfectly clear blue sky and temperatures that soared into the 60s, something almost as rare as a total eclipse.
On a cozy porch overlooking a sloping meadow, we sat with eyes to the skies, protected, of course, by our NASA-approved eclipse glasses. The technology surrounding an event like this is mind-blowing. Satellites miles above the earth collect data and beam it down while teenagers take images of sunspots from their backyards.
It’s not just the sophisticated engineering tech that’s amazing. Sure, we have space goggles to keep our eyeballs from catching on fire, but we can also take a simple spaghetti strainer out of a kitchen cabinet and project the image of the moon gliding across the sun, onto the ground. I can’t take credit for knowing that; I was lucky to be watching with a space/science expert, but it’s a poor day when you don’t learn something new, right?
I’m a space nerd, for sure, and I love reading and learning about anything space-related. The flip side of that is I was never very good at the skills required to be a rocket scientist or space professional, so I’m stuck firmly in the fan base, which is still pretty cool. I got to sit outside on a gorgeous day with dear friends and new friends and watch the planets move around me. Does it get any better?
On the ride up to Vermont, I listened to podcasts about the eclipse, what the crowds might be like, and some of the stats. It will be another 20-something years before we see the next total solar eclipse that crosses the country like this one did. I had a passing thought about “older people” who came out to see it, because perhaps they realize this might be the last chance in this lifetime to see the sun blocked by the moon.
Older people? Holy Corona, Batman, that’s me. In 20 years, I will be closing in on 80. This might be the last eclipse I ever see. I’m planning on still being around, but given the fact that my kids already call me Dory, will I even remember it when the next one comes along?
There’s no way to know, but I keep coming back to the “path of totality” concept. Today, it was about areas where the total eclipse could be seen from start to finish, but when the sun and moon aren’t dancing across the sky, could it be something else? Do we ever know exactly where and when we might hit totality?
We don’t. So, in the meantime, make the trip to see something cool with a friend, wear funny glasses, drink wine during the day, and take it all in. Go for the long ride — it’s worth it.
Brenda Kelley Kim has lived in Marblehead for 50 years, and is an author, freelance writer, and mother of three. Her column appears weekly.