THE GREAT AMERICAN ECLIPSE 2017 -- PART 3

On Eclipse Morning we were up early and had pancakes on the griddle when I peeked out of the camper to see a friend's car parked just outside our "gate".  On one of my cell reception hikes I'd posted about where we were and our friend from home turned out to be very near by. He found us!  He had made the trip in the wee morning hours from his stopover in Hermiston, Oregon, 150 miles to the north.  He reported steady traffic, coffee-stop back-ups, and many cars pulled off the side of the road to sleep for the night.  That was the same road we'd traveled on Wednesday, which at that time was nearly deserted.  Things had changed since then!

We welcomed him with a cup of coffee and chatted away while gathering our chairs, cameras, cooler, and eclipse glasses to hike to our meadow to set up Eclipse Camp.  Still amazed that it was only we three there -- along with butterflies, woodpeckers, chipmunks, and a couple of shy deer we spied through the pines -- we settled in to wait.  We took photos of each other in our goofy glasses and wondered aloud what the experience might be.  We'd read and heard plenty about what to expect, but here we were...eager to see for ourselves.

Over the next 90 minutes we watched as the moon began its travels over the sun.  Hub took photos of the progress at various intervals.  We looked around the meadow to see how the light was changing.  I'd describe the nature of it as one might experience a room's lamp being adjusted with a dimmer switch...from full on bright to ever so gradually getting dimmer and darker.  At one point we all agreed that looking around the muted surroundings was rather like blocking bright sunlight with a pair of sunglasses.  There was a "shimmer" quality.  We also noted the temperature shift from mid-morning hot to slightly, then dramatically, cooler -- guessing about a 15-degree drop.  We went from shirtsleeves to sweatshirts in about a 15 minute span.

Everything grew gradually quiet.  Birdsong ended, ground squirrels stopped chirping, our industrious Pileated Woodpecker took a break, butterflies alighted, no car engines could be heard anywhere.  Man and nature were silent. (Except for the momentary annoyance of a small plane overhead, likely trying to get a closer look.)

Near the time of the totality the sky darkened dramatically from deep sky-blue to indigo.  The grasses waving in the breeze were no longer luminescent in the sunlight, but cast tall shafts of shadow.  The pines moved from green to black.  There was an eerie unreality about it, as if something had gone horribly wrong.

Watching the last sliver of sun disappear was one of the most dramatic and awe-inspiring sights I've ever seen.  On a planet dependent on that bright star for life itself, to see it disappear and all around the darkness descend upon the once bright morning was disorienting, a bit terrifying, and altogether amazing.  We ditched our glasses and looked straight on at the moon covering the sun.  Venus shone brightly above us.  It was starkly beautiful.  The corona itself still emitted enough sunlight that the landscape was reminiscent of a full moon night; not completely black, but nearly so.  I remember reaching out for Hub's arm on one side and our friend's on the other. Hub leaned over and kissed me.  Tears welled in my eyes, and I whispered, "Oh my god...Oh my god..." a prayer to whatever Universal Presence may have created the heavens.  I felt completely insignificant and blessed by this witnessing.

As we sat awestruck, that brief moment in time flew by.  In two minutes and seven seconds the very first infinitesimal sliver of sun reappeared.  It was if the lights had come back on in an instant.  We all simultaneously exclaimed, "It's back!" almost in disbelief.  Did we, like the ancients before us, think the sun had been forever blotted from the sky?  Of course not...intellectually.  But on an emotional level there was a confusion of wanting it to go on forever and also celebrating the joy of knowing normalcy was returning.

We watched the moon move away and the sun reappear over the next hour, but it felt like the light returned much more quickly than the darkness had descended.  In no time at all birds came alive again, butterflies fluttered around us, and we could hear cars, trucks, and campers traveling down the mountain road in the distance, eager no doubt to beat some of the traffic surely congealing the roadways leading out of the path of totality.  Our friend would be one of those travelers, so we soon hugged him goodbye, wishing him safe travels.

Hub and I had decided to stay over one more night, so the rest of the day stretched ahead of us at a leisurely pace.  We talked about our experience for awhile, grateful to have shared it together.   Words seemed inadequate though, and we wished for the silence we had experienced to go on a bit longer, so we sat in meditation together.  We heard the wind through the trees and appreciated the dappled shade protecting us from the suns's hot rays -- now returned fully to heat and sustain our earth, our home, our life.

I will never forget it.

At least, that's the view from here...©

Photos:  Ours.  There are more professional ones out there, many altered and enhanced or maybe just taken by more experienced photographers, but these (among many others!) are ours.  They do not do it justice.