There Goes the Sun

It’s sobering to know that an event is once in a lifetime if you are of a certain age. The total eclipse on Monday was the only one I will see, I believe, unless there is a huge breakthrough in stopping the aging process. Although I don’t think I really want to live to 120. Who has the energy for that?

Knowing this was my only chance, and not really knowing what it would be like, I scurried myself up to Lake Champlain to a cabin that was way too small for the five of us, even if one of us was very small. To be honest, I think I coerced my husband, son and family to join me on the 4-5 hour drive to this camp by the lake. To give you an idea of the cabin, our main topic of conversation for much of the time was where to sit as the two-year-old nearly bounced off the walls. Did I mention the dog came with us?

But, I have to say we had some great togetherness sharing meals, coffee, wine. I wished I had opted for a full kitchen, but we microwaved our dinner and begged the establishment for an actual coffee maker—which frankly saved our morning. For me, an added treat was to celebrate my son’s birthday with him on the very day of the eclipse. The grounds were lovely, and the view of Champlain was awesome in the real meaning of the word. Our little one had plenty of room outside to run and explore with us, and even found a couple of other small people who shared their toys. We discovered the camp was populated mostly by the owner’s family. What a great idea!

When the time approached, the smart parents put the boy down for a nap. No need to take a chance with those new blue eyes. We stayed close by and donned our glasses. Even the dog got into the act. I had seen a partial eclipse in Connecticut in 2017, so I knew what was in store as the moon moved slowly across the sun. But, let me tell you that a partial eclipse is nothing like the totality. Even though I had read a great deal about what would happen, the actual few minutes of totality exceeded my expectations a hundred fold. The feeling in the air, the dip in temperature, the gradual dusk and then sudden darkness were otherworldly. But the view of the totality was nothing like the photos I had previously seen. I expected that corona around the sun/moon—but to me it looked like a helix of sorts that sparkled around the edges. I will never know if everyone sees the same thing. We tried taking some photos, but none did it any justice.

People at the lake whooped, and yelled and I found myself letting out my own crazy whoo hoo, and I discovered my cheeks were wet from tears. What is it that makes this experience emotional? Knowing we are specks in the universe? That there is indeed so much more than this little marble we balance on? That there must be some reason humanity is allowed to exist when we could so easily be smashed by an asteroid, or burned up by a too close sun. Some purpose for our miracle to be here. And then the little guy woke up from his nap, and the sun hung in the blue sky as it had before.