Look, up in the sky — A Labradoodle reflects on the Solar Eclipse

Juno is an increasingly popular (at least in her own mind) dog blogger who lives with the Mapaw and Papaw in beautiful Summerland in the South Okanagan region of British Columbia

With thanks to Melissa Kirsch at the New York Times

Finally, a different kind of news event. Time for something not tied to the antics of despots and hawkish warlords. An extra-ordinary and rare astrophysical convergence will take centre-stage this coming Monday across much of North America. The degree with which you will notice it depends on where you live, and your local weather forecast. Some lucky viewers will watch a total eclipse of the sun. If this means you, you are fortunate indeed. You, and your owners.

Down in my four-pawed world, were in the right location I also would watch with interest, but from the interior of British Columbia we will see absolutely nothing. And given our rotten spring weather, I would predict clouds. Wrong place; wrong time. We must watch online to hear the stories and experiences of others points-east of here—it’s a bit like watching Canadian federal election results—why did we bother to vote anyway? Done deal now. Too bad, so sad. Grr.

On Monday, the moon will steal between the Earth and the sun, a (rare) total solar eclipse in North America. The path of totality, the strip of the continent where the moon will completely obscure the sun, begins in Mazatlán, Mexico, crosses over more than a dozen U.S. states, from Texas to Maine, and ends in Newfoundland, Canada (more than a half-hour later).

Since 2017, eclipse enthusiasts (umbraphiles) have been patiently waiting for another skyward planetary spectacle, an impressive antidote to the hum-drum doodle living. Sky gazers (with necessary protective eyewear) have the opportunity to study the single largest source of energy and light in our galaxy. The experience will be like that observed in biblical times:

“Immediately after the distress of those days ‘the sun will be darkened, and the moon will not give its light; the stars will fall from the sky, and the heavenly bodies will be shaken.’” (Matthew 24:29)

Biblical literalists and groups like the Jehovah’s Witnesses will predict the end of the world as we know it, again. [I hear someone at the door now . . . back in a minute.]

[Now returned] Should I be surprised by the interest of so many North Americans in this eclipse? It promises to be, if not life-altering but breath-taking (see Dillard below). I can understand how for many, this event will be a first-hand opportunity to feel part of the miracle of the cosmos—this is a totally natural event, unimaginably massive in scale, fueled in no way by human ingenuity or technology.

Landing on the moon pales in comparison. There is no reasonable comparison with the seismic shudder caused by the Blue Jays/Mariners triple header in Seattle last year at the same time as a Taylor Swift concert. This event is neither the death of a beloved queen or the Coronation of a new king. Such events, however, do generate a sense of community amongst many observers who, being strangers, will gather and unite at least briefly. (Sounds a bit like the dog park I must say.)

This solar eclipse will allow viewers to participate in something akin to creation itself. We are talking about re-alignment of the stratosphere viewed from what our liturgy  book calls “suns and moons, the planets in their courses, and this fragile earth, our island home.”

Arguably the most exquisite description of a solar eclipse comes from the American writer Annie Dillard (The Atlantic, paywall, but short-term access is available and well worth the effort of signing up, even temporarily). Dillard and her husband watched a full solar eclipse on February 26, 1979 from the Yakima Valley in Washington State. Her description, while lengthy, is eloquent, disturbing, detailed, and for both of them, life-changing. Just a few quotes must suffice:

It began with no ado. It was odd that such a well advertised public event should have no starting gun, no overture, no introductory speaker. I should have known right then that I was out of my depth. Without pause or preamble, silent as orbits, a piece of the sun went away. We looked at it through welders’ goggles. A piece of the sun was missing; in its place we saw empty sky.

There was no sound. The eyes dried, the arteries drained, the lungs hushed. There was no world.

From all the hills came screams. A piece of sky beside the crescent sun was detaching. It was a loosened circle of evening sky, suddenly lit from the back. It was an abrupt black body out of nowhere; it was a flat disk; it was almost over the sun. That is when there were screams. At once this disk of sky slid over the sun like a lid. The sky snapped over the sun like a lens cover. The hatch in the brain slammed. Abruptly it was dark night, on the land and in the sky

One turns at last even from glory itself with a sigh of relief. From the depths of mystery, and even from the heights of splendor, we bounce back and hurry for the latitudes of home.

Wow. Who knew? Woof!

I had planned to root this essay in a complaint, that attention from my world down here was shifting to the sky-world up there. Reading Annie Dillard I confess my egocentric error. Regardless of where we live, we are part of and surrounded by miracle. Creation is literally fantastic. Sometimes, miracles put on a show, especially this coming Monday. They deserve our attention and respect. Those who witness this event can learn from the choreography of the cosmos the ways and means of human and non-human integration here on earth. Such a good news story. Happy Monday everyone.

 EXTRAS

Some maps of the eclipse’s path. The Wirecutter explains how to photograph an eclipse.