Vol. 96, April 16th, 2024 Published a day early online
On Bees and Bonnets
The duct tape guaranteed it. I knew there’d be trouble. Yards and yards of silver around my ankles, sealing heavy overalls to work boots. A specialized jacket. Gloves. The enraged bees swirled through the air. “This is what I thought beekeeping would be like” I grumbled to my teacher.
“Oh, they’re not that bad” she replied. The bees buzzed louder.
Working on the mean hive had me jittery–and prepared. Then I felt it. Tiny feet on my neck, crawling towards my hairline, racing the goosebumps. Somehow, despite the tape and gloves and enough canvas to rig the Black Pearl, trouble arrived. “Jan, Jan, there’s a bee in my bonnet.”
The metaphor is apt.
“Stay calm” I told myself and the bee, nearly spitting my heart out. “You don’t want to be there, I don’t want you there, I’ll walk over here and we can alllll settle down.” Three angry comrades buzzed my veil furiously, chasing me away. I kept walking. And walking. The tiny feet crawled into my hair with a tingle.
“Easy now, easy now.” I braced for the hit of venom. Taking off the jacket slooowly, I leaned forward.
And...she flew off, unbothered. Everyone won that round. Whew!
Bees fill the air from a gentle hive, ready to swarm. Unable to leave with the queen, they returned inside to await another attempt. Blog production is frequently interrupted by checking on them.
Quote of the Week
“I am the wisest man alive, for I know one thing, and that is that I know nothing.”
–Plato, The Republic
Happy Anniversary, Mr. Cronkite
Today marks the start of Walter Cronkite’s tenure as the iconic CBS evening news anchor, 1962.
“And that’s the way it is.”
Carol’s Appalachian Word of the Week
With this chilly start to April, Carol’s word is perfect:
“Put on your toboggan.” (Knit hat) “It’s cold out there.”
Songs of the Week
“Taxman” (The Beatles) & “Busted” (Ray Charles)
If tax time has you down, give these classics a spin. No paperwork required.
Crescent Sun
The McBride family captured this stunning eclipse photo from the Aberdeen Proving Ground in Maryland at 3:18 pm.
Photo provided courtesy of the McBride family.
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. #181)
Appearing in the Altavista Journal, etc: “Crescent Sun”
Howdy, folks, and welcome back to the show! How ‘bout that eclipse? Holy moly, what a sight. Although we were east of the shadow, and didn’t see the total eclipse, the partial phase still rocked. But, it was almost a no-go.
Checking the weather reports Monday morning, I shook my head. The satellite images showed a line of clouds perfectly arched over the path of the event. I believe in God–one God–but every time there’s something to watch in the sky, I joke that it seems proof of Zeus or Thor or something.
“Nice eclipse ya got there, buddy...be a pity if it rained.”
(I’ll often suggest a pal throw their telescope into a volcano to appease the angry weather gods, but they remained unconvinced.)
As showtime drew near, I packed up a solar telescope and headed to the party at the Central Virginia Community College in Lynchburg, VA. Clouds teased, but on earth, the festive atmosphere was in full swing. Kids ran up. “Can we look through the telescope?”
If staring at the sun is a bad idea, it seems using a telescope would be worse. (Magnifying glasses starting fires, anyone?) Anytime I do demonstrations with the special gizmo, I swear it’s perfectly safe, holding up ten fingers while saying I’m displaying three. Gets ‘em every time.
“But seriously, folks...” Thanks to dark filters on the lenses, most of the sunlight is blocked, leaving a fascinating look at all sorts of spots, surface detail, and mighty loops of plasma that could dwarf the earth. Our days are lit, our food is grown, and our paint faded by this nearby star. People enjoyed “meeting” it for the first time with a good long look through one of these solar scopes. We admired the sight, waiting, waiting.
Then, the moon showed up. The sun looked like it had a dent as the moon started the eclipse. Then a bite. Then it looked like Pac Man. Then the clouds showed up. D’oh!
People milled, kids started playing tag on the green lawn, their laughter filling the air. “Hey, there it is!” An even slimmer sun peeked through the clouds. The light streaming down seemed thinner, like the tint in an old photo. Holding up a cheese grater, I looked at the shadow. Instead of dots of light on the ground, they turned into a dozen tiny crescents. “Oh, how cool.” The clouds returned, but a miraculous twelve minutes before maximum, the sun darted out again, a melon rind of light. We all burst into applause. What a thrill. What chills.
I’m not exactly sure why. Maybe it’s the sight of the sun turning into a blazing sliver of itself. Some ancient culture must have said the event was a space dragon eating cantaloupe. Maybe it’s seeing that we’re part of something bigger than our to-do lists and everyday problems. Maybe it’s nice to marvel at something eerie and beautiful with strangers. Maybe it’s all of that.
The sun is back to his old self, but hopefully, we’re all a bit better for it.
Clear skies,
–Josh
P.S. Made the 6:00 news with an eclipse story.