A Harvest Moon Nighthawk

Getting ready for the big show

Vol. 118, September 17th, 2024 Published a day early online

On A Saturday Evening

The mountains north of town caught the night from the east first, blue. The sky glowed orange behind them, and the lights started to twinkle in the valley. There’s something about 80’s music at the end of summer, so I cranked it. Green light. I rolled downtown, new toy in tow: a 1965 Edmund Scientific telescope.

It looks normal, but huge, something from the Jolly Green Giant’s collection. Friends were waiting. We set up, and took a shot at the waxing Harvest Moon. Sidewalk astronomy rocks.

Lunar views work in the city, and Saturn outshines the lights. The sights wow, amazing tourists, and knock tipsy girls back on their stilettos. Four letter words somehow aren’t profane in this case. The reaction to seeing rings and craters is so visceral, people forget to be polite. Then we start talking: science, politics, God, aliens, philosophy, grief, music, and puns. Somehow, seeing the Infinite shocks us back to being human: vulnerable, curious, ignorant, capable of being more, somehow blessed beyond measure to be part of...this. The music of the spheres is almost heard over the bar next door. In a way, it adds. Laughter is one of my favorite sounds. We all talked till midnight. I rolled home as the winter stars rose, glad.

Downtown Observatory

Two new friends admire the waxing Harvest Moon through the “new” 1965 telescope in downtown Lynchburg.

Happy Birthday, M*A*S*H!

The pilot episode broadcasts 9/17/72. The show ran for 11 seasons. It remains an icon.

Carol’s Appalachian Word of the Week

Polecat (Skunk). “You could smell that ole polecat for a mile!”

Quote of the Week

“There is not a

moment without some duty.”

–Cicero

Poem of the Week

The Star-splitter

Included in Robert Frost’s 1923 masterpiece New Hampshire, it’s the finest tribute to a telescope you’ll ever read.

Write to Us!

The Nighthawk is a new old-fashioned way to connect, published weekly. You’re invited to write back, or just enjoy reading. Let’s have some fun! It’s a social paper! Send stories, etc to: PO Box 783, Rustburg, VA 24588 or Joshurban@protonmail.com

Letters from Josh

(A weekly update from Josh Urban’s adventures on the farm and in the city. #203)

Appearing in the Altavista Journal, etc.

Late Night Radio–With Josh Urban

Shine On, Harvest Moon

Howdy, folks, and welcome back to the show! It's the Harvest Moon this week. She deserves a soundtrack. But, Leon or Rosemary? Clooney's version of the classic strolls with a refined swagger, while Leon Redbone's is mysterious, spooky, best listened to when the “night is mighty dark” and the moon refuses to shine. What a way to say it's cloudy, eh? I always spin 'em both.

The final hurrah of the summer, this year's Harvest hits full on Tuesday, and just grazes the Earth's shadow in a penumbral eclipse. This is the partial shadow near the complete shadow, often barely noticeable–no blood moon this time. It's the second of four “supermoons” this year, when the moon is full at the close part of it's orbit.

A supermoon can be up to 30% brighter and look 14% bigger, but there won't be any blazing holes in the sky. “Slightly brighter” is a better way to think of it. Astronomers, like baseball fans, love stats.

Baseball has a way of keeping the fans grounded. I'll be at the park on a late summer evening, peanut shells crunching underfoot (talk about music), and right when I get lost in the endless columns of batting averages on a page...WHAM! A foul ball will come crashing down in the cheap seats, reminding me to pay attention. There's a story out there, and it's worth watching.

The moon does the same thing. We can learn fun facts about it, argue about lunar geology (and feel sad about the cheese myth), but then it smacks us with a moonbeam. We fall silent, and fall to looking.

I'm a real piece of work during the day, almost thinking I can explain the moon. Then it gets dark, and the books dissolve in that silver light.

Sometimes I try to make the facts and figures work for me, appreciating new things about what I'm looking at. A thin crescent moon has a faint ashen glow on the unlit side. That's called “Earthshine”, and if you were an astronaut looking home, you'd see a nearly full Earth, lighting the lunar darkness. So that's cool. But when the last full moon of Summer swims up into the sky, it's best to either watch in silence, or turn to song. It seems everyone else does.

Elvis couldn't have made his first record without the B side: a cover of Bill Monroe's classic “Blue Moon of Kentucky.” Frank did a whole album called Moonlight Sinatra (dig the clever Beethoven pun, and give the sonata a listen while you're at it). The Marcel's doo-wop version of “Blue Moon” is a treasure of Earth. CCR's “Bad Moon Rising” is a rock legend, and it's always a marvelous night for a moondance (Van Morrison).

I once ended a DJ gig with Glenn Miller's “Moonlight Serenade.” A man who had seen ninety Harvest Moons walked up, a light in his eye, both sad and warm.

“They used to close out my high school dances with that song. It always meant it was a good night.” The moon will snag you when you're least expecting it, either by beam or by song.

It happened to me once in Lowe's. Strains of King Harvest's “Dancing in the Moonlight” drifted out of the tinny overhead speakers, and brought me back to a lady friend long ago, and then to a fallen pal who used to love the tune. I shook my head, and tried to go back to looking for light switches or drywall mud and other daylight things.

So cue up your favorite moon song, and dig that fine sight in the sky. If it's cloudy, play Leon Redbone.

Shine On,

Josh

Send postcards and moonlit stories to P.O. Box 783, Rustburg, VA, or on X @RealJoshUrban