Solar Eclipse at the NWS

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During the solar eclipse we all realized that the universe was bigger than our egos. It took a moon covering the sun for everyone to calm down, and actually listen to scientists. People won’t listen to them on matters regarding climate change, global warming or water pollution, but they will readily follow their advice on where and when to watch the solar eclipse, making sure to buy solar glasses so they don’t burn their eyes. The solar eclipse of 2017 gave people a chance to come together despite whatever else was going on in the world.

I waited until noon or so when the moon would begin covering the sun. “It’s going to be slow,” a friend said, adding that the clouds would obscure it. I was anxious for the eclipse to start and end already, so I ate candies and wrote to pass the time. It was like waiting out a long sentence in the National Weather Service, though it was interesting to see meteorologist in action. The room was filled with computers, three to four per desk, per person. Some displayed forecast maps, numbers others data that seemed hard to decipher. I also saw cool gifs of the solar eclipse’s path on a map of the U.S. I wondered how people kept focus staring at all those screens and images, but realistically they probably only ever used one or two. There were several phones on every desk, too many to count, each with it’s own purpose; they were not simply intended for calls. Eerily enough, there would be a change in temperature during the eclipse, but slightly.

 

My low-quality Iphone photo of the solar eclipse. The sun is 92.96 million miles from earth.

 

I kept checking a big digital clock with bold red numbers at the center of the back wall. It was next to a medium-size T.V., broadcasting CNN. As expected they had ongoing coverage of the eclipse. When we first went out, the moon had only begun covering the sun. It was merely a tiny spot on the right side of the sun, as if a bird had bitten it off. The clouds moved slowly in front, and I could feel myself becoming disappointed, so I went back inside. Later on, I went back outside a couple more times. Eventually, the moon reached the half point. Still sometimes the sun and the moon were visible and other times, the clouds fully covered them. “Go away clouds,” I found myself saying.

Finally around 1:30 p.m., everyone was outside waiting for what we expected would be 88 percent totality. I peered through the solar glasses, taking breaks when the sun became too intense. I tried to take a photo with my Iphone behind my solar glasses, and captured not the most ideal images, but I wasn’t about to point my nice camera at the sun without a filter. Not before long, the sun was finally in a crescent shape. I helped someone from the office take photos since at first, since she couldn’t figure it. Some people pointed at the strange umbrella shapes on the ground created by the shadows of the moon. It had seemed like an eternity, but it was finally over. The moon had obliterated the sun, but just for a short while.

In the parking lot, a random lady who was driving around in an uber car decided to stop and show me her photos and ask me what I thought. She then made a reference to a strange photo she had taken. “I wonder what that is,” she said, passing me her phone. “It’s probably a glare or reflection.” I told her. She had been staring at the eclipse through the tinted back window in her car, so that’s probably what caused the multiple diagonal shapes of the moon and sun. It did look like the solar eclipse of another planet, perhaps Jupiter. I let her borrow my solar glasses and helped her take a photo with the Iphone right behind it. I’m not sure how long we stood there, but I was ready to drive away. “I think you’ve got quiet a lot of photos,” I said.

Alabama: there and back

Image: Cynthia Via

Some weekends ago I took a bus to Alabama to visit a friend. It was an eventful weekend of driving to the beach, hiking, and exploring what is left of downtown Mobile. I say what is left because the downtown area appeared mostly empty. People are not lying when they say there’s nothing to do out here. I don’t know much about Mobile’s history. I think of it as a mini New Orleans that the founders wanted to turn into a busting place, but left undone and adopted New Orleans instead. Mobile shares some of Nola’s streets, the oak trees and architecture. Walking around, I realized downtown could be a community for artists and families, but from the looks of it, a lot of shops have shut down—also it was Monday when I visited, but still, it appeared desolate.

We met a family who was equally puzzled trying to find something to do. The main museum was closed. The family of three: a mother, dad and their daughter were passing by for the day, and they used some of their afternoon hours to sit under the shade in Bienville Square Park and complain about the heat. “We’re from up North.” They were from Massachusetts and they were sweating. “I could use a drink right about now,” said the dad, chuckling. When I told them, I moved from NYC to live in New Orleans, he said, “Oh I know about those New York folks.” “Be careful, they can destroy you with their thumbs,” he said looking at my friend.

Image: Cynthia Via

I laughed innocently, as if agreeing but not really. I hardly think of myself as a tough New Yorker. My friend and I sat down to rest then walked around quickly to get ice-cold water. We passed a bank that had a large thermometer on the outside; it measured 93 F. We passed an old bookstore that seemed to have only hardcover books about baseball and old white men. There wasn’t much shade and I was getting a headache from being in the heat, so we settled on eating pizza, which was surprisingly good. I took some quick photos, so as not to stay outside for too long. There was a mural painted over the bottom part of an abandoned building and a small peanut shop where I bought Spanish peanuts. The walls inside were decorated with memorabilia, plaques, and newspaper articles recounting their glory days.

The day before we drove to the Gulf Shores beaches where we hid from the sun under a small umbrella. When that didn’t work we ran to the beach and stayed there for a long time, floating with the waves. We dove down to the bottom to see the fish. My friend saw gray and blue fish. I couldn’t believe they were right below me and I refused to participate, but after many tries I finally saw one. I didn’t take many photos that day, but I do remember loosing an earing after taking off my goggles. It fell right by the shore, and it was tiny and black, resembling many of the broken shell pieces on the sand. It was gone forever.

The next day we headed to the Historic Blakeley State Park, which has nature trails, cabins, and historic sites. In the 1820s the Town of Blakeley had a population of 4,000, more than Mobile at the time. But with the yellow fever epidemic and land speculation, people starting flocking to Mobile. During the Civil War it became a fort housing soldiers and weapons. The last battle after the Confederate general surrendered took place here in 1865.  Now it’s considered the “loveliest ghost town.” The town’s center was part of the trail with only one structure remaining (most likely reconstructed) but plenty of witchery trees, crooked and dark.

Image: Cynthia Via

We could hear the birds, but we couldn’t see them. We hiked about 7 miles but it was only in the second half that we saw the beautiful bulbous trees and the Tensaw River where we stopped to rest on a bench. Yellow black butterflies passed our vision and flew behind the trees. We walked along a boardwalk and that headed back to hiking path. The walk wasn’t all that rigorous but the heat made it hard at times. For lunch we went to a Cajun restaurant that had an outdoor balcony facing a long expanse of swampy terrain and skinny trees (which was only temporarily ruined by the highway in the distance). Lunch included a mysterious waitress from Minnesota with black eyeliner and a singer with purple hair streaks, who had a nice voice but was singing kitsch songs. It was contrary to an otherwise swampy afternoon in the south. At least two twin boys with matching pink shirts had their eyes glued to the stage.

Upon returning to New Orleans, I asked my uber driver, how the weather had been for the past few days. “Mostly hot; we haven’t received much rain lately,” she said. I thought about my plants, and their probable deaths. I doubt anyone in my house had remembered to water the garden.

Image: Cynthia Via