Eclipse

Eclipse

August 21, 2017

Keely

Everyone has been writing about the total solar eclipse. Or sharing photos. Telling stories. A number of friends and relatives went to special locations to experience 100% totality, or just “totality,” as became the buzzword.

I guess I could have done that. I had recently read Annie Dillard's essay “Total Eclipse” and heard what others had said, so I knew that there was nothing in the world to compare to experiencing “totality,” not even seeing 99.999%, and that it is totally awe-inspiring, life-changing, etc.

Annie Dillard's essay in The Atlantic:

 www.theatlantic.com/science/archive/2017/08/annie-dillards-total-eclipse/536148/ 

But, I wasn't going to be doing that. I had decided to stay at home, experiencing the 97% coverage we would have here.

I decided to find out what things were like right here at home, a place I know so intimately (after over 31 years here), where I know what birds call when, what frogs and insects I am hearing, how the leaves of the Tulip Poplar, Sugar Maple and White Ash flutter differently in the breeze, how the color of sunlight and sky change throughout the day. What better way to experience such a strange change as an eclipse than in a place of utter familiarity?

My decision was to stay here, as still and quietly as possible, in complete awareness, sensing every change from large to minute – listening, watching, feeling. Would the temperature change? Would birds and squirrels seek shelter? Would the rattly, hot sound of cicadas fade into the increasing, smooth and cooler sound of katydids? Would bees climb under leaves and flower petals to prepare for sleep? Would my dogs and cats pace the floor and crawl into safe places? Would they whine, or become completely silent?

Here, the eclipse would begin at 12:55 pm (Eastern Daylight Time,) reach its 97% peak at 2:20 pm, and be completely over and done with at 3:48 pm.

First, I would take in a normal morning as the sun rose beyond the woods, its rays filtered through the trees, then above the treetops, blasting the scene with bright sunlight.

Garden view at 8:54 am

Just another day during tomato season

Babette wants in, as usual

Sun rising through the woods at 8:54 am

Flowers were facing east, to the rising sun, 8:58 am ...

Pink Bindweed blossoms on fence

... and so was a Robin on our utility line.

Looking up and down the road at 8:58 am ...

I heard crickets singing, woodpeckers calling, and Mourning Doves with their flappy, chattery, short flights.

At 9:01 am

At 9:03 am

In the gardens - reflections of our Sun ...

9:07 am

At 9:17 am - taking periodic notes

Does it seem odd or trite that I wore black and white? I do love to wear black, so it's just what I grabbed from the closet that morning.

More consciously, I also took out this moon pin.

And, well, I had to do this (from a local winery):

 Besides, my friend Lynne would be coming over, and she likes wine.

At 9:10 am, it was becoming considerably muggy. Cicadas were sounding off in the woods (they seem to do that when it gets hot.) There were some butterflies out and about, but I didn't see them visiting flowers just yet. I saw a few Large Carpenter Bees and some of my neighbors' honeybees, and heard a Song Sparrow singing (I think).

Garden, Tibetan prayer flags, and corn, at 9:21 am

At 9:22 am, the Tibetan prayer flags in the Herb Garden Transformation Project were gently fluttering, and there was golden morning sunlight on the corn.

A minute later, the wind picked up, sending the flags flapping and the tall sunflower plants swaying. The cicadas became louder and a faraway rooster crowed.

At 9:29 am, a Pewee called its name repeatedly from inside the woods, and more butterflies had become active. Visible from the porch were various Swallowtail butterflies and the ubiquitous Cabbage Whites.

9:30 am

Sky toward the south at 9:34 am

One of my neighbors' honeybees busy on a sunflower

The sun clearing the woods' top by 9:34 am (as seen from behind our house)

At 9:40 am, a helicopter flew low over our place (we all know how loud those are!)  Curiously, it flew and hovered a long time over the area beyond our back property.

It was getting much warmer, and I would need to go indoors to cool off now and then. I tend to absorb heat and not release it very well.

Back outside by 10:50 am, I did some wandering around to see what everything was doing.

10:50 am: garden and corn field views, and a nice morning sun glow in the porch

10:51 am

Looking into the woods at 10:51 am

  

I walked down the driveway to look at the large patch of Red Clover that is frequented by butterflies and bees.

Monarch

Painted Lady

Silver-spotted Skippers

Female Black Swallowtail

Eastern Tiger Swallowtail (male?)

Bee with pollen bags (11:08 am)

Back to the gardens:

11:09 am: sunflowers and Native American corn

Okra: 11:10 am

Variegated Fritillaries (11:12 am): one chasing another (trying to mate?)

At 11:15 am, the Tibetan prayer flags were flapping while tall trees creaked in the wind. Cicadas were calling loudly from all around while butterflies and bees were very busy. A young mother jogged down the road while pushing a double stroller containing her two small children.

Then that helicopter was back, mysteriously.

Views of garden and woods at 12:04 pm

UFO at 12:05 pm?

At 12:06 pm, the sky was still clear, the sun very bright, and the wind had picked up.

At 12:08 pm, the sun was pretty much directly overhead. Cicadas were calling, and I heard Chickadees chattering in the distance while a Mourning Dove cooed nearby.

The helicopter had finally moved on, but an annoyingly loud, buzzing plane flew overhead.

I went inside for a quick lunch, and to cool off again.

At 12:20 pm, the breeze was barely cutting through the southwestern Indiana humidity. Cicadas were, of course, still loudly calling. Would they quiet down during the solar eclipse?

This old thing is not the most accurate thermometer. Was it really only 80 degrees, or did the humidity make if feel much hotter?

The eclipse was beginning at 12:55, according to what I had read. There still looked to be an intensely bright white round thing in the sky.

12:58 pm

At 12:56, cicadas were still calling, but I hadn't heard much from birds for awhile. But, it was a hot mid-day, a time when they normally become less active and thus less vocal.  There were crickets calling.

The man arrived to repair our old back-up A/C unit (fortunately, our main A/C system was working at the time, after the same company recently repaired it, too.) We had not known which day he would arrive. This time would not be as contemplative as I had hoped, but I was glad he had come to work on it.

Looking into the woods at 1:01 pm, six minutes after the start of the eclipse

1:02 pm

At 1:21 pm, we were 26 minutes in from the start of the eclipse, with 59 minutes until peak time. There was still wind. A Red-Bellied Woodpecker cackled in the woods and a Cardinal was making chipping sounds in the garden area. I know I wasn't supposed to look, but it was early, and to the “naked eye” the sun was still a white-hot, intense ball in the sky with no interruption. Hadn't the eclipse started?

Lynne had arrived before 1:48 pm with two pairs of eclipse glasses she miraculously found still for sale in town, and some white paper plates.

The man was working on the A/C unit.

I was not hearing any birds. The dogs and cats had become quiet, though all of that could have been due to the heat. Maybe something was happening.

I put on the eclipse glasses and … there it was! Yes! It was happening, after all! The sun was already one-third or more covered.

2:00 pm, 20 minutes before peak eclipse: A strange phenomenon on the porch - a straight line across the screens with an opaque view below and clear view above. The light dimmed inside the porch. 

The expanding shade of the Tulip Poplar that stands between porch and shed, at 2:00 pm - light beginning to rearrange between the leaves.

It was definitely darkening at 2:01, as if nearing twilight.

All was very quiet. The cicadas had stopped calling.

At 2:04 pm, the shade of the Tulip Poplar stretching out much further than normal for the time of day.

As shade from trees stretched out, crescents of light, multiple reflections of the eclipse, gradually took form.

2:05 pm

 Lynne with plates, 2:06 pm - notice shade of trees on ground and on roof of shed

We both tried looking through a pinhole of one plate, onto the second plate, but couldn't figure out what we were supposed to see. However, it was easy to see the crescents forming on the white plates.

Light crescents forming under the Tulip Poplar at 2:09 pm

More distinct at 2:11 pm

2:15 pm: five minutes to peak and the porch is very dim (actually a little darker than it looks in the photo). Notice lights and shadows on the fence and in the yard, and a band of intense sunlight along the screen bottoms.

It was darker yet at 2:16. Oddly, butterflies were still out.

 2:19 pm: one minute to peak time. Light and shadows on the grass next to woods' edge.

It was 2:20 pm Eastern Daylight time, and the eclipse had reached its 97% peak.

2:20 pm: peak eclipse time and multiple reflections of a 97% solar eclipse.

2:20 pm: I found Silas, our ultimate "Survivor Cat", sitting very still just inside the woods.

Looking into the woods at 2:20 - peak eclipse time.

Very friendly Pester, our black cat stepped out of the woods at 2:21 to greet me ...

... and became an Eclipse-Viewing Cat.

The atmosphere seemed eerie. The quality of light, though the same visibility as dusk, was somehow different from dusk, at 2:26 pm. Birds were busily twittering the way they do when getting ready to settle down for the night.

But, cicadas were calling again!

By 2:30 pm it was getting a little lighter, and birds were twittering, Did they think it was suddenly dawn? It was as if we had moved straight from dusk to dawn.

It occurred to me that I never heard katydids. The darkest part of the eclipse here, which wasn't very dark, was rather brief, too short an interval for the switch between cicadas and katydids. The cicadas had quieted for a short time, but conditions soon returned to their favor.

Lynne and I were both surprised (as well as other people in the general area) that 97% coverage did not result in more darkness.

The gardens and corn field at 2:50 pm

By 2:51 it was much lighter outside. At 2:59 pm we used the eclipse glasses and saw that the sun was about one-third covered, as it was the first time I used the glasses.

The man finished with his work and the old A/C unit was able to be used when needed. As he went outside I insisted he use the glasses to view the eclipse, and he was surprised by the clarity and amount of coverage at that time, despite the sun seeming like a bright white orb again.

Lynne and I walked down the drive to the big Red Clover patch. Many butterflies were out and about, including skippers, various Swallowtails, Pearl Crescents, fritillaries, Monarchs and more. Bees were busy, too.

 The eclipse was officially over at 3:48 pm. Lynne went home and things started to settle into the usual afternoon/early evening rhythms.

But, soon the atmosphere grew dark again – darker than it had been during the peak of the eclipse. The sky filled with dark clouds and rumblings sounded in the distance.

4:32 pm - A storm has arrived!

Soon it was pouring rain. It rained most of the evening, during the night, and into the next morning, to early afternoon.

The gardens and woods during heavy rain on August 22, 12:15 pm.

It was a welcome, much needed change.

My observations were not quite as quiet and contemplative as I had hoped. I had many disruptions (including having to run into the house now and then to cool off.) I realized later that I had not paid attention to some things, such as the feel of the air during the darkest time, and whether bees had crawled under leaves and petals.

Nevertheless, it was an interesting way to experience the eclipse – close to Nature, away from crowds, and with a friend. And, I didn't have to deal with traffic to get to an area of “totality.”

However, something is happening here in seven years, a more significant event for our area. I can start planning for it now.

In April of 2024 there will be another total solar eclipse across the country, including parts of the Midwest. In fact, the center line of the zone of 100% will be … right through here. We will be able to experience the wonders of “totalilty” right in “our own back yard" – literally. Or in our front yard, or gardens, or back field on the hill, or in the woods – or anywhere around here. Our area will be one of the big destinations.  We still will not have to deal with traffic, because we won't have to go anywhere.

I expect real darkness, and katydids, and that life-changing experience I've heard so many other people talk about. I don't know if the situation will provide me with much more quietude and awareness, though. We shall see.

Crescent moon on Friday, August 24, three days after the solar eclipse - as seen from our house.

Goodnight, Moon ...