Happy Friday!
I got to spin records for a lady who’s a hundred and a half years old, and shake hands with a gentleman who served in the 11th Airborne Division in WWII. It was a day of DJing for the “OG’s” in Roanoke.
But it’s still Friday, and time for a space report!
The Leonid Meteor Shower: Background
The media loves to hype things, meteor showers included. Sometimes they’re right.
Most of the time the hype falls short. It did this time. But…
While I’m still working on the craft of storytelling, I do have a knack for finding the tales in the first place.
The 1833 Leonid storm inspired the poem that was eventually set to music - none other than Stars Fell on Alabama. Dig this Sinatra version from 1958.
The annual event is caused by the Earth plowing through a cloud of comet dust, encountered each year around November 17th. When the grains hit the “windshield” of the upper atmosphere, they’re going 45 miles per second. They look like a blazing, falling or shooting “star”, that lasts about a second, leaving a brilliant streak in the air, and fading quickly. The meteors appear to streak from the constellation of Leo, hence the name Leonids.
Every 33 years, Earth slams into an especially dense cloud, resulting in “storms”, and sometimes, songs. The 2001 event was something I’ll remember forever. I saw thousands upon thousands of greenish meteors, a silent rain of fire all night.
Between the hours of 2 and 3 am this morning, I saw….
Two.
Setting the Scene
The alarm let off a burst of static. I was up. 2 am. Time to brew tea, and put on the old army surplus coat. Bundled up like a hobo, I crept outside.
The frosty air greeted my nose, and the land lay silent. Orion sparkled high over Long Mountain, and Sirius, the Dog Star, glittered blue-white. The Dog Star. Remember that.
A waning crescent moon was in the east, just below the constellation of Leo the Lion. It looked like he was dragging it up with his claws. It cast a pale, silvery light over the frosty grass. As my eyes got used to the dark, I could see my own faint shadow in the moonlight.
Mars blazed reddish orange, almost directly overhead, and looked fine in the telescope parked in the yard, gathering frost. (Telescopes work best when cooled to ambient temperature.)
But no meteors.
I walked to a back field, keeping an eye on the sky for meteors. The stars were beautiful, and the crescent moon wasn’t washing out too much of the sky.
Jupiter was almost set in the west, and the horizon was hazy. It glowed blood-red.
THERE! A quick blip! A streak of white light, about as long in the sky as my thumbnail held at arm’s length, on the western horizon. The first Leonid of the evening.
My other senses were at work. I heard an overnight train roll by from Appomattox to Lynchburg. A lone truck rolled south out of town. My feet felt the path through the woods. It was too soft and leafy. I had missed the main path. Rummaging around with my feet, I found the hard packed ground.
Trouble
Arriving in the back field, I settled on my back in the frosty grass.
What peace. What tranquility. The train from Appomattox was still rolling in the distance, the horn mournful.
Then a howl rent the night. A howl?
In the pale moonlight - a coyote howled! I’ve never looked up what it sounds like. I’ve seen one once, but he wasn’t howling. I’ve tracked them in the snow, and the neighbors have said they’ve heard them recently. But I never have. I’m no expert.
Some things instinct just knows.
Then the whole pack of them joined in, baying, yapping, barking, howling.
Oh man. I lay there in alarm. This isn’t good. I tried to record them on the phone.
Probably a good time to go closer to the house.
Folks, I’m an embarrassment. What would any of my prehistoric ancestors say? I didn’t try to catch one and eat it. I didn’t try to punch it in the face. I didn’t even wait for it to show up. I moved closer to the house.
Wimp.
Success
Leaned against a fence post, I admired the moon and stars. And then…ZIP!
The second meteor!
Like the first, it was short, quick (under a second), silent, white, and streaked low through the constellation of Hydra.
My breath smoked in the moonlight as I sipped hot tea and appreciated the experience.
The cold, the distant sounds, the fact the coyotes had stopped howling, the snort of a deer in the woods (he saw me and wanted me to leave), the blinking of the red lights on the mountain tower, and the peace over the land.
I snagged a few more views through the telescope. The Orion Nebula with it’s great billowing clouds of star-forming gas was a sight that I’ll report in detail soon.
It was close to 3 am. I was cold. I went back to bed.
In the morning, the telescope was covered in frost. I smiled. What a smashing success it is to spend time with the Universe.
Treasures from Earth
Feast your ears on this, my fellow earthlings! It’s J.S. Bach’s Brandenburg Concerto number 3 in G major - one of my favorites.
Have a spiffy weekend!
Josh
Morning frost on the 12.5” reflector telescope . If you’re a blind friend wondering what this looks like, it’s a white bowl, with a black rim. There are a few labels, wires and connectors on the rim, which has small white frost crystals growing on it. These patches of ice have formed overnight from freezing temperatures.
Howl back at the coyotes. Look for discarded Acme boxes to find where they set traps.
Beautifully written your me time was well spent.