A Return for Breakfast

A Stargazing Nighthawk

Vol. 113, August 13th, 2024 Published a day early online

A Return for Breakfast

Steam from the buffet mingled with the snatches of conversation drifting through the fragrant air. I blinked a morning groggy, looking out the lodge window. The lake mirrored the mountain, green.

Last night’s wander among the stars had kept me out late. I was there to host the meteor watching program, but it’s easy to get lost in the milky way ‘round about Cygnus. An hour looking up feels like a lifetime.

Cassiopeia, the vain queen, dazzled in starry beauty. I gaped at her majesty as she stood over the shoulder of the ridge, as a footmen might have viewed Cleopatra for the first time, stunned. Constellations seem imaginary in the city lights, but transform into fierce beauties when the sky turns to black velvet and the stars burn like sapphires and rubies.

So that’s what the ancients meant.

I had finally slept, the day star had returned, and the warmth of a breakfast on earth contrasted with the icy glitter of deep space. Orange juice and pancakes, a clang of a fork, the kingfisher chattering over the water, flying back to his nest. I had seen a meteor or two last night, streaking green-white in a final blaze across infinity. Looking down at my plate, I saw potatoes and eggs.

It’s good to return to Earth for breakfast.

Mountains and Moonlight

The moon graces the sky over Sharptop mountain, while telescopes set up.

Carol’s Appalachian Word of the Week

Holler–back road. “The Millers live about a mile back up in that holler.”

Happy Birthday, Roller Derby!

Chicago Coliseum sees the birth of the legendary American sport & entertainment, 1935. God Bless America.

Book of the Week

Travels in Alaska (John Muir)

We all can use a dose of wilderness from time to time, and Muir serves it in heaps with his last work.

Quote of the Week

“In fact, I’ve come to the conclusion that I never did know anything about it.”

–Edison, on electricity

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. #198)

Appearing in the Altavista Journal, etc: Summer in The City

Howdy, folks, and welcome back to the show! Have you noticed the night sky lately? Oh, check it out, man. After a long day in the glare of screens or staring at road signs, I’ll stagger out to my back porch for a look. It’s nice to forget the troubles of the world for a bit, and get some perspective. I sit on the porch in my country backyard, listening to the frogs, and look up. My eyes take a minute to adjust to the dark, and the imagination a moment to fly. At first, things seem normal.

Altair, Vega, and Deneb mark the corners of the brilliant Summer Triangle, sailing high on these humid evenings. Light from the first two takes 16 and 25 years to travel to Earth, respectively. Deneb beats them out handily, blazing away at a distance of 2600 light years, one of the most distant stars we can see with the unaided eye. The light from that star started it’s journey to Earth around the time Cyrus the Great was born, and well before Christ.

The glimmering of the milky way, our home galaxy, shines as a hazy band stretching down to the southern horizon. Dim stars glitter in the murk above the mountain in the rough outline of a teapot, a bit of the constellation Sagittarius, the milky way like steam from the spout–a view towards the galactic center. Summer skies are a party.

It reminds me of warm nights long ago back in the big city when I’d go prowling. The stars overhead seemed to all land on earth, lighting up the bustling streets and clubs. The jukeboxes and disc jockeys became the city’s crickets and frogs, a chorus to serenade the sleepless metropolis. Oh, to be part of it, with all the mystery and excitement of deep space settling on the hot streets. Icy blue Vega took human form, shimmering in a sapphire dress, the belle of the ball, throngs of paparazzi crowding ‘round her. Trying to get the earthly Vega’s number was about a long shot at visiting the real star, but one has to try. Oh well. Then I’d stop by and watch the strange men playing chess in the park, scruffy geniuses swearing like sailors, the opposite of what we picture as chess nerds. I tried my luck once or twice, and got beaten badly. “Oh man, forked the rook.” We started talking, and he recommended an obscure book on Pythagoras, and taught me a chess opening I use to this day. All the life on the ground, mirroring the splendor of the skies.

When it grew late, I’d wander on down the empty boulevard, glad to have seen the city. It did me good, to know I was somehow part of it.

Now, I sit and listen to the frogs, and look up again, away from the lights where the stars return. Sometimes I see scientific things, distances and chemistry and physics. Sometimes it’s the depth of trillions of miles of nothing that rattles my cage (although, strangely, it usually calms me). There’s the sheer beauty, and a tranquility, and mostly, all of it. For some reason, I almost always forget to look, though. So, if this column is a pretend radio show, here’s a public service announcement (although quite real).

Take a look up, won’t you? What do you see?

–Josh