I witnessed an unusual (to say the least) event on August 21, 2017, on a farm about 15 miles from Alliance, Nebraska, just up the road from the now-famous Carhenge. I also saw the total eclipse of the sun.
A group began to assemble on the previous Saturday, and more RVs and tents appeared on the scene in the next two days. People came from as far away as Virginia and California. By Monday morning there were about thirty of us— some arriving just that morning and leaving the same day. Introductions were made and people circulated among different groups under various canopies shielding us from the sun and heat. There was beer.
I knew possibly a fourth of these people, and not even the hosts knew them all. Nevertheless, everyone was welcome and the makeup of the clusters of visitors changed constantly. The youngest camper was “four going on five,” and the oldest was pushing seventy-six. In two cases, three generations of a family were in attendance.
A wide range of political perspectives was present, from pretty far left to equidistant on the right. In fact, I’ve had heated political exchanges with some of these people.
Yet, there were no arguments about Trump, no accusations of bigotry. No one was branded a libtard, transphobe, or Trumpanzee. There was no virtue signaling, no bible-thumping, and no nationalistic rhetoric. Instead, we shared laughs, stories, and songs. Someone brought a guitar and we sat around a bonfire, singing, accompanied by an all-kids kazoo band. Straggler shooting stars of the Perseid streaked overhead as we all eventually called it a night.
Monday morning arrived and breakfasts were hastily cooked, eclipse glasses located, water bottles filled, and sunscreen applied to necks, arms, and noses young and old alike. Before long, a caravan of cars, trucks, and off-road vehicles had assembled and progressed toward a hill about five miles away that would provide nearly 150 feet of elevation. We occupied that hilltop, most walking up the steep incline and some shuttled up in the ATVs. The kids had fashioned “eclipse masks” by cutting eyeholes and a nose wedge in paper plates and attaching their eclipse glasses over the holes. To avoid “accidentally” looking at the direct sun.
The full-eclipse phenomenon has been described and documented many times, but seeing it for yourself is another thing altogether. As the light slowly fades, it takes on a “crisp” quality, much like high-mountain light. Objects appear sharper, almost crystalline, as the sun becomes increasingly obscured. Even as the light becomes dimmer it is sharper still. Eventually, only the smallest sliver of sun remained, then the “diamond ring.” Meanwhile, the street lights of Alliance have come on, and a dog has started barking on the farm below.
Scattered clouds have been plaguing us for the last hour, and as we inched closer to totality a chant starts: “No clouds, no clouds…” but it fails to gain traction and fades. Finally, a gap in the clouds arrives that is surely large enough.
Then darkness streaks across the land and past your position. You think you saw it move across the terrain— but you didn’t. We’re not cognitively equipped to follow something moving at over 1700 miles per hour at ground level. Then, bam— there’s the corona, the whitest white you’ve ever seen, surrounding a disk of the blackest black. Eclipse glasses come off. 360 degrees of horizon look like a vermillion sunset, bright stars and planets are visible above and the streetlights of Alliance sparkle in the distance. Everyone starts howling.
We are stunned with wonder, sharing an experience that belies all the petty squabbling that occupies our lives. On this hill, there are no Republicans or Democrats, no liberals or conservatives. We’re being shown how small our bickering really is, and how powerful Nature is by comparison.
As we’re packing up, everyone agrees that these two minutes and thirty-seven seconds were worth the trip, no matter how far or complicated. Gradually, everyone has disbursed for home.
But, for a couple of days, politics stopped in its tracks, and a group of people— many who had just met— gathered on a hilltop in Nebraska and howled at the heavens like a pack of coyotes.
Which made an amazing experience infinitely richer.
Being present with JC at the Sandhills location that day was a once in a lifetime event.
Very well written, what a gift you have!
Watched from Glendo reservoir in WY. The crowd was huge and sounded like a troop of chimps hooting and cheering!