A Northern Lights Nighthawk

+ A Happy Belated Mother's Day

Vol. 100, May 14th, 2024 Published a day early online

The Aurora Borealis

“Well, it might be the Northern Lights. It looks brighter over there.” I stared towards Polaris, watched the Big Dipper spilling starlight back down towards the neighbor’s house.

The band grew distinctly brighter. Were the solar forecasters right, and the geomagnetic storm cause the sky to glow this far south? Faint columns appeared, towering from the horizon up to the dipper, reddish, shifting slightly. “It’s THEM! It’s THEM! The lights!”

Earlier that day, the sun wound up for a sucker punch. A Coronal Mass Ejection (CME) on the sun hurled billions of tons of charged particles towards our atmosphere, and now the air itself glowed: red for oxygen at high altitudes, green for lower, and a faint purple of nitrogen.

That’s the technical story. I watched, awestruck, then frantically calling my astronomy buddies, then watching again, marveling at the dancing hues in the sky, some white edges of the curtains of light moving impossibly fast.

It felt like being a gnat on a canvas that God was painting, hoping you’d be noticed in time–and wondering what you’d say if you were.

Northern Lights

A crescent moon shines through the rarest of sights in Virginia: a brilliant display of the Northern Lights on Friday evening.

Anne Frank & The Scientific Version

Anne Frank’s “Scientific” diary is published today, 1986, with extra accounts. She wanted to be a famous journalist, sometimes doubted she had the talent, but wrote anyway.

Carol’s Appalachian Word of the Week

You can say tire like tar. Took me the longest time to figure out what my neighbor meant.

Quote of the Week

“You better cut the pizza in four pieces because I’m not hungry enough to eat six.”

–Yogi Berra

Book of the Week

Aunts Aren’t Gentlemen (PG Wodehouse)

Another clever Jeeves and Wooster ramble, a literary British version of Seinfeld that’ll keep you chuckling.

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 joshurban251@protonmail.com

Letters from Josh

(A weekly update from Josh Urban’s adventures on the farm and in the city. #185)

Appearing in the Altavista Journal, etc: Jane Goodall

Howdy, folks, and welcome back to the show! “When I grow up, and meet a girl, and like her, what do I do?” I already had future chills. My five year old brain jammed at the impossibility of the challenge.

“Well, you might ask her for a walk.”

“A walk?”

“Yeah, and you talk, and get to know her. If that goes well, then you ask her for another.”

Well I’ll be–mom was right about that, too. It actually works. Happy belated Mother’s Day, ladies. I call my mom Jane Goodall. I’m not the famous chimpanzee researcher’s son, but sometimes, the poor lady feels like she’s surrounded by the real scientists’ subjects. The three of us sons might be grown, but we’ve still got the chimp chops.

Mom was also right about not eating an entire cheap grocery store pastry–measured in square feet–before breakfast, and that thank-you notes are a nice gesture. She taught me how to cut a check, understand feelings, and how to write. I inherited her ability to hype things, but have never reached her elite level. I’m still conflicted on the merits of three-bean salad, but it’s growing on me. (It must be a problem with my taste, and not the vinegar.) I’m forever grateful.

A turning point in maturity is seeing your parents as people. Parents seem to be two things in one: the idea of a mother, and the woman herself. She was, and always will be, mom, but as an adult, I get to talk to the person, and see her as someone honest, hardworking, thoughtful, and always striving to do her best. That example will last a lifetime. I lucked out to be related to her.

This can be unusual. Mother’s Day is lousy for a lot of people. Maybe your mom is gone, or she’s a real piece of work. The last thing you need is some paper boy talking philosophy. But wait, folks, hang on: This Mother’s Day I’m toasting not only “Jane Goodall”, but all you ladies who are thoughtful, caring, hardworking, and nurturing to the world in the way you see fit. Know that you’re valuable, and appreciated. Example matters more than you’d think. Thanks for all that you do.

Happy Mother’s Day!

–Josh

Send ibuprofen to J. Goodall c/o Late Night Radio, P.O. Box 783, Rustburg, VA 24588