Ring of Fire, Eclipse of the Sun

Eclipse photo by Michael Keller

The day of the eclipse my parents invited me on a drive to get closer to its center path. In their late eighties, they were excited to see the once-more-in-their-lifetime event, and planned on driving 5 hours to get the best Arizona view possible.  We didn't have sophisticated equipment for viewing, just a very low tech cardboard pinhole viewer.  But off we went on our adventure.

I had experienced a solar eclipse years ago in Montana.  Totality occurred on a February morning in 1979. My brother and friends and I had skipped classes and driven to a wildlife refuge to watch.  We wanted to see what the animals would think of night falling in mid day. It was spectacular. As darkness began to fall from west to east (!) the birds and animals became restless and noisy.  The deer formed a large herd that crashed aimlessly back and forth across the fields.  I could only stand still, silenced by the confusion such an event was causing in their minds.  At totality all was quiet. No more movement.  No sound.  Did the night creatures wake up again?  We couldn't tell.  We took turns looking at the hidden sun, passing around the binoculars. Then, with relief it seemed, the second dawn started.  This seemed not to be so traumatic for the animals, and the day began anew.

Now here I was again, waiting to see an oddity of the universe.  This time in the company of my parents who were every bit as curious and energized as my earlier college buddies had been.  We found a quiet field north of Wupatki, and watched the tiny projection through my pin hole.  The light lessened and the air grew cooler.  Sunset colors began to deepen. I found I could make a pinhole with my fingers and project the eclipse's progress on the white rocks scattered around.  I felt primal.
I walked out into the field and looked back at my parents, these people without whom I would have never existed.  They sat quietly on lawn chairs by their car, in visor and Tilley hat. Watching. These are the ones who fostered my intense interest in nature, who gave me the eyes to see beauty, the desire to know and understand the world and her people.  To go out of my way for something of value. I felt immensely grateful  to have been born to them, people so alive and kind and just.

Eclipse photo by Michael Keller

On the way home the moon was still moving across the face of the sun.  I watched the sun peek out from behind the vertical edge of the mountains as we drove along.  Still a crescent shape, it was not just one point of light but two, one above and one below, as if there were two tiny suns.  Then, when fully revealed, it became the familiar setting sun.  A very good day.

Thank you to Michael Keller and Karen Applequist  who we met in the field. They shared their welder's goggles with us (far better viewing than my cardboard) and their amazing photos.