Eclipse Hype

My Observations of the Eclipse

Eclipse from Spokane WA at 10:15 am.
(All photos by Jennifer E. Miller)

There was this thing called a total solar eclipse that happened on Monday. Did you hear about it? There was sure a lot of hype over the moon blacking out our sun. To have a solar eclipse happen where you live is a rare occurrence. If its so infrequent, why the frenzy? In fact, I'm surprised people were making such a big deal about it. The quail visit our yard nearly everyday; now that's a spectacle.

Jennifer, are you serious?!

No, no! Of course not. You should know by now I love sarcasm.

When I first heard about the solar eclipse, I mistook it for a lunar eclipse, which happen more frequently. When all these eclipse glasses starting popping up for sale, I didn't understand why they were necessary. I thought they were a toy to enhance the experience. By the time I realized how special a solar eclipse is, and the need for anti-retina-frying goggles, it was a little late in the game as retailers were sold out. I came to terms with my mistake and researched other interactive ways to experience the eclipse.

There were many creative ways to view a solar eclipse with a pinhole method. I got really excited to use my homemade pinhole viewer that took a whopping 47.3 seconds to gather supplies and create. All I needed was a sheet of white paper with a small hole punched out. With my back to the sun, hold up the paper. The sun shines through the hole onto the ground or other surface. When the moon crosses paths with the sun, the bright circle changes into a crescent shape. Use this same idea and enclose a pinhole viewer in a cereal or other small box. But wait! You can lay your fingers over one another in a waffle pattern to create a pinhole effect (which is cool cause it shows several little eclipses all at once). Again, using the same idea, look at the ground through the shadows of a leafy tree. Even a pasta colander with all those little holes. The creative possibilities are endless.

I was very curious about the light and/or darkness. While we weren't in the path of total totality, our area would get around 92% and I wondered how much darkness was coming. What would the light be like? Would it resemble twilight, dusk, or dawn? Would it glow, making long shadows? I also looked forward to feeling the eclipse. Would it be cold? Folks using those stinking glasses wouldn't be able to experience any of those things because, surely, they would only be focusing on the sun's show and not its affect on earth.

I got hyped up over my own hype. At the last minute, a friend said, "Hey, I have an extra pair of eclipse glasses. Do you want them?" I almost said no. I looked forward to a creative experience. But, knowing how hard those suckers were to come by, I took them home. They sat on my counter overnight, twinkling under my kitchen lights. I felt as though I was cheating on my creativity.

Eclipse Day, August 21, 2017, arrived and I sent G off to school. Someone managed to secure eclipse glasses for the students and I was glad she would get to see the sun and the moon competing for alignment. Since I wasn't exactly sure how the school was planning to ensure that all 500+ students kept their anti-retina-frying goggles on their faces, we went over safety precautions again. And again. And again. G was annoyed with my worrying that she finally said, "Can I just take a pinhole view instead?" I sent her with one, but explained that this is really special and she should look at the eclipse through the special glasses...and only the special glasses. (I had to get that one last mom warning before sending her loose through the hallways.)

Back at home T and I had the TV switched on to one of dozens of stations covering the eclipse. Around 9:15 am the eclipse started. The news anchors enthusiastically announced the moon has just taken its first bite out of the sun. On the screen was the orange circle of our sun with a teeny tiny edge covered. I wondered if we could actually see that with the glasses, so outside I went with my eye cover. By golly! We can see it. Until about an hour later, that was about all the excitement. The moon reportedly travels 2,288 miles her hour. When a human is firmly planted on Earth, it sure doesn't seem that fast. So we waited

Near 92% at 10:23 am. Notice the long shadows and "glow" on T's skin. Not typical of a cloudless bright day.

I only have 8% of the sun shining on me!

Taken after school. She is mimicking "Ooooo" because that's what she says she was doing when watching the eclipse. Notice how the light is significantly different that the top photo. Both subjects are facing the sun.

About 10:00 am the moon was positioned enough that the eclipse projections through the pinholes were a true crescent shape. It was like the moon phases, only with the sun. I got some neat photos.

Pinhole viewing method. This was about at peak totality.

Punch a bunch of holes to see multiple eclipses! 10:41 am.

Fast forward about an hour to 10:15 am and things start to get really interesting. Of course we took peeks through the glasses here and there, too, but the vibe was obviously different. The normally scorching sun rays disappeared. Not filtered as though behind clouds, but blocked; similar to a sunset dipping behind the horizon. The temperature suddenly dropped several degrees, giving me goosebumps. The sunlight was noticeably dimmer and less intense.

Our neighbors walked onto their back deck about this time, too. It was fun shouting across the yards to them. "Do you see it?" "It's pretty cool." "T is worried he might be missing out on good fishing."

10:27 am was to be the peak of Spokane's totality (remember 92%). As the moon inched closer, the temperature continued to cool and the sunlight was losing its battle to shine at capacity. The normally bright blue sky turned greyish blue. And everything was quiet. The birds disappeared. Wasps retreated to their nests. There was no rustling of the tree branches; even the slight breeze present was stealth. It felt as though nightfall was on its way. Curiously, even I felt the urge to bundle up, light a campfire, and roast marshmallows (hey that's what someone does outside at night!) I was unexpectedly uncomfortable experiencing twilight at 10:27 am. It was cold, dim, and quiet. Entirely too quiet.

The last bird we saw before 92% totality: a Eurasian Collared Dove. The sky is taking on a deeper tint.

Luckily, totality only lasts a couple minutes and soon the moon floated out of the sun's way. Its retreat was even more interesting that its advance. The crescent shape, which formed on the sun's left side, curved over the top, and ended on the right side. Like the sun was a lazy susan spinning in the sky.

Finally, with the eclipse completed, the all-powerful sun once again spit its warmth and strength onto Spokane. And my adorable little birdies returned for their snacks.

The eclipse was over quickly. While we were not in the path of complete totality, it was interesting how light it stayed, even with less than ten percent of sun's capacity upon us. That goes to show the sheer power of the sun (and the necessity for proper eyewear). I had fun observing this phenomenon and its affects right from home.

Cabin 3

Photo from Pixabay under Creative Commons License

Cabin 3

By,

Jennifer E. Miller

Riding in the car, I felt the curve in the road before the resort entrance. The car blinker ticked, as the tires crunched over the gravel driveway, leaving behind a wispy cloud of dust. I saw row of small structures almost too small to be called houses. I guess that’s why they were called cabins.

Dad steered the car and parked in front of the main office. All three of us, my sister was the third one, climbed out and filed inside. A friendly woman with long greying hair tied in a ponytail and thick bangs greeted us. She checked something off in her registration book and handed Dad the keys. The keychain was an ugly, orange, plastic diamond that surely fit uncomfortably in his jeans pocket. But I suppose not one tenant misplaced it.

While the woman discussed the rules and things to do, my sister and I became antsy. She noticed and suggested we step out the rear door onto the porch. Skipping our way to the door, our sneakers creaked over the wood floors, worn dry by sand and dampness others had trampled in. The screen door had a rusted spring that complained as we pushed it open and stepped outside.

We stared at the glittering surface of water before us. Like floating diamonds, it shimmered in the fierce midday sun. They bobbed up and down, momentarily disappearing, so as not to melt under the rays.

I wanted to kick off my shoes, push my toes into the sand, placing one foot before the other, faster and faster, and run into the cool deep blue water that stood before me. I wanted the minnows to scatter upon my splash and the seaweed to tickle my ankles. I wanted to step over the sharp rocks, or prance across the dock and try to avoid getting a splinter. I longed to watch the sunset—as much as the surrounding mountains would allow.

At night, I could don a sweatshirt and head to the fire pit where the hosts allowed guests to toast s’mores. I preferred my s’mores a certain way: without the graham crackers or chocolate. The smoke and heat of the campfire parched my eyes. Like fireworks, the flames crackled and seared, giving way to sparkling embers floating off into the night sky, to chase stars, the ashes clinging to my clothes. In the morning, the smell of fire and roasted marshmallows lingered.

But I was getting ahead of myself. I still stood on the porch soaking up the lake with its noise of summer enthusiasts on paddleboats or cannon balling off the dock. There was the scrape of a rowboat over the sand, safely off the water. Couples strolled along the beach hand-in-hand, sometimes with a leashed dog.

My sister groaned, and said something about the small snack store on the beach a few dozen yards down. They sold candy and ice cream. I think that’s what the resort and the lake was to her: candy and ice cream. If those diamonds glittering upon the water were edible, I’d spend all weekend plucking them off and into my mouth. They’d surely taste like crystalize sugar.

The rusted spring complained again, and Dad stepped through, announcing he was finished checking in. We skipped back through the office waving at the woman, and climbed back into the car. No need for seatbelts since it was a short jaunt to the cabin. Cabin. The word suddenly sparked a realization.

“Which cabin did we get this time?” I asked with excited anticipation.

“Cabin 3.”

My sister and I cheered and clapped.

Cabin 3 was extra special. It wasn’t the basic long log type that most were. It was narrow, meaning the rooms were such, too. And that meant two twin sized beds couldn’t fit side by side. Cabin 3 was special because it had bunk beds.

The car rolled toward Cabin 3, and my sister and I bickered over who was to get the top bunk. We were told we’d take turns since we were staying two nights here. Next, we argued over who was sleeping on top first.

The car came to a stop. The gear shifted into park and Dad pulled the keys out of the ignition. The noise of the engine, the radio, and crunching over the gravel ceased and an eerie silence lingered because I noticed Dad was quiet, too. Usually he was cheery and jovial upon arrival, but I quickly brushed aside my concern. I was excited to be here.

We opened the car doors as a dust cloud floated by, disappearing as the particles dispersed. Dad popped the trunk and we grabbed our belongings; we didn’t bring much when this place had nature’s splendor to enjoy. Clutching our bags, we headed toward the entrance.

The cabin’s door paint was peeling and a few cobwebs hung in the corners. It was a regular, welcoming site; I liked how things stayed the same here. Dad dug the key out of his pocket and jiggled the lock.

The door swung open and I got a whiff of must and vintage wood paneling. There was a small kitchen and living room, where a textured plaid couch sat next to an old TV with rabbit ears. Between the two rooms was a dark hallway. I darted down it.

The room on one side had a regular sized bed. Across from it was the second room. Running my hand over the smooth wall, I found the light switch and flipped it up. A single bulb illuminated with a small ting, revealing the bunk beds.

I tossed my backpack on the top bed and scrambled up the ladder to claim my stake, much to my little sister’s dismay. Wanting to be first to sleep on top, she pitched a fit. But I wasn’t backing down. She still occasionally wet the bed; and I wasn’t sleeping in a soiled mattress. She just as easily could soil the bottom bunk, but I was not risking my single night on the top to my sister’s bladder. Her fits became tearful and she hollered at not getting her way.

Ignoring her protests, I sat up top, my head inches from the ceiling. Unzipping my bag, I dug out some photos I’d brought along; photos from previous trips to this resort. There was me with my first rainbow trout, sand castles, and even holding a washed up dead sunfish. A handful more revealed new friends we’d made at the lake, rowing a boat, or burying people underneath the sand with only their heads exposed. Over my sister’s cries, I smiled at each one. Each memory flooding through the gates of time.

After flipping through the stack of photos, I placed them next to my pillow. I noticed my sister was still wailing.

I climbed down from the bunk, faced her, and suggested we go to the beach store for candy or ice cream. She said she wanted both. Of course she did. At least the sobbing subsided for now.

Once more, we walked down the dark hallway into the front area where we found Dad opening cupboard doors, examining what supplies lay inside. He stopped and turned toward us.

“She is ready for candy and ice cream,” I told him.

My comment brought a smile to Dad’s face, but it quickly faded.

“This is the last time we will stay here,” he blurted.

Confused, I asked why.

“The resort is being sold to a developer who will tear down the cabins to build condos.”

“What’s a condo?” I asked.

“It’s a building with many places for people to live in,” Dad answered as he mindlessly turned the sink’s faucet on and off.

“You mean apartments?”

“No. fancier than apartments, but similar I suppose. Think of them like a building with a few houses insides.”

“So we will stay in a condo instead of cabins next time?”

“No. The condos are for wealthy people to buy and live in permanently.”

I didn’t like that answer.

“Well, we can come enjoy the beach,” I stated, matter-of-factly.

Dad looked glum.

“We won’t be able to do that either. It will be private property; that’s means keep out.”

I didn’t like that answer. Families enjoyed this resort throughout the summer—and year probably—why restrict use to those few who can afford condos? It didn’t seem right. The natural splendor should be available for all.

My last stay at the resort would at least be in Cabin 3. Somehow, though, the experience was different. The musty smell seemed expired rather than renewing. The ice cream and candy wasn’t as sweet. The paddleboat pedals felt stiffer, the sand rougher, and the diamonds faded. The roasted marshmallows remained delectable and, strangely, one never again tasted as good as they did from that fire pit.

Sadly, I imagined the gravel driveway paved and blocked with an iron gate. Adorned on it would be a sign that read Private Property Keep Out. I pictured the future row of buildings too large to be cabins. They’d be condos. I wonder who would get Condo 3.

I wrote this memoir of a local resort that did indeed change to condo living. It meant yet another public access to the water was stripped away. This practice is all too common in the region. Public use is brushed aside in favor of money and greed. Nature should be for everyone to enjoy and make memories.

The Modern Family

The Modern Family

By,

Jennifer E. Miller

While most families include a mother, father, and a couple kids, there's always that one family who stands out from the rest. The one with a herd of children who makes you think, "Wow! Look at all those kids. They have their wings full."

Wait. What?

I present the modern family. It's a quail flock who have hung around our yard this summer. There's a mom, dad, and seven chicks. Sometimes, they waddle right up to our living room window, where we have a feeder, and cleanup after the finches. Other times they hide under the trees or flowers.

It's usually the same routine when they arrive. Dad stands watch upon a fence post or perched on our roof, keeping a diligent eye out for predators. There's one little chick who insists on being close to dad. After he's eaten, he flies and lands next to dad where they snuggle until the rest of the crew is finished.

When the whole family is ready, they line up on the fence. Dad first, followed by the chicks, and finally mom. Their little feet pump along, as though on a balance beam. If I listen closely, I hear low clucks from the parents, along with soft cheeps from the chicks.

Gah! Enough with descriptions. Here are the photos. Enjoy and I dare you not to coo as you look at them.

They have eaten and are tip-toeing their way over the balance beam.

Examining the area for predators.

Waiting for the cue to follow the leader.

Sibling love!

A few of the chicks wanted to take a dip in the neighbor's pool.

Explaining Patriotism

Explaining Patriotism

By,

Jennifer E. Miller

For the past two weeks, we've had an exchange student, Miko (not her real name) staying with us. She if from Japan, and it's interesting to learn about another culture. What's especially fun is answering her questions about America because it allows me to get a glimpse of what foreigners notice here. 

One of the things Miko pointed out was the amount of American flags she saw. They can be found hanging off houses, towering in front of businesses, even flapping atop vehicles. She asked why we do this because, in Japan, only schools and government/military buildings wave the Japanese flag. Miko was confused when I answered,  "It's because we are patriotic." Then, I tried explaining patriotism. It's harder than you may think. Flag bearing is, evidently, not a universal way to show love towards your country. 

Our student thought flags are for military purposes. That is true, but I described how non-military citizens are proud to be Americans. The American flag is not just for government purposes, it's for everybody because we are a country founded by the people, for the people. We proudly display our country's flag to honor our heritage and show our citizen unity.

The concept of showing the flag would, seemingly, make perfect sense to most Americans. Culturally speaking, it's difficult to translate. It also made me think about appreciating being an American. In countries where it is not widely accepted to display a flag at your home, does it mean that country has more control over its citizens instead of the other way around? As American citizens we do have a lot of control. We vote on many topics and elect many different kinds of positions. As voters we work for our government, in a sense. Our government doesn't just control us. The USA is truly a free country with minimal boundaries. 

Hanging the flag outside my own home shows I am patriotic. It means I'm proud to instill the values that make this homeland the greatest on Earth. Proud to be an American. 

Miko's question also sparked my curiosity regarding what other US citizens think patriotism means. How would you answer her question? I'm interested to know.