I sit in
a rustic cabin with my laptop on my knees. The screen glows in the
darkness. I sit in the dark because I am part of a group of amateur
astronomers camped out away from city lights. We cannot put bright
lights on during the night or else we will ruin our night vision.
Once the sun sets, no one can drive their car in or out of the
camp. With nightfall, headlights are forbidden. Everyone uses red
colored flashlights. Even my laptop has a removable red plastic
film.
Outside
the cabin where I write, telescope tripods blink with red lights.
People gather around the telescopes. They peer up at the night sky.
Tonight, Venus is a popular choice for viewing because it is lit
from the side by the sun, making it look like an old moon in the
telescope. Comet Lulin is also a popular target with its faint
glowing tail. The more organized among us have a list of nebulae
they are cataloguing. Others prefer star clusters and galaxies.
Earlier
in the night, I had moved among my friends and their telescopes. My
husband showed me Saturn in our telescope, its four moons visible
like fireflies fluttering against the night sky. I am constantly
amazed at how alive this beautiful planet looks. In a magazine
photograph of Saturn, you can see colored bands around the planet
and its rings. However, in the telescope, the colors are not visible
because the planet glows so brightly with reflected light from the
sun. I much prefer this telescope encounter with the real planet,
in real time, and in real life. It feels alive!
Tops of
tents, cabins, and telescopes create dim outlines against the
starlit sky. Muted voices exchange information about the Trapezium,
a cluster of stars in the Orion Nebula. This gorgeous nebula glows
like fairy dust in Orion’s sword. It is a place where stars are
born: a star nursery. Someone asks about the location of the Leo
Triplet. They are three galaxies visible in the same location of the
sky as the constellation of Leo. These are whole worlds, similar to
our Milky Way galaxy. They are so far away—35 million light
years—that each one looks like a single star to the naked eye. I
wonder if there are people on those far distant worlds. Is someone
looking back at me from the galaxy we call M65?
We hear
an unearthly murderous chattering in the bushes. The first time I
heard the sound, chills ran down my spine. Now, I’m used to the
racket of the raccoons. They are our nighttime companions. Are they
fighting or mating? I imagine they are discussing whether they
should rush toward us and attack our garbage can now or whether they
should wait until later when most of us have retired to our tents
and cabins to sleep.
I hear
one of the men call out from among the telescopes, “The raccoons are
here!” I look through the screen door of the cabin to see furry
little bodies ambling among the telescopes. Our nighttime companions
are lit by glowing beams of red light from a number of flashlights.
It is a
good life. Nature and writing. Two of my favorite things. As I sit
in the dark writing, I remember being seven years old, when my best
friend Nancy and I knew that we were writers. We did not know that
we would become writers when we grew up. We knew we were writers
right now at the age of seven . . . and that we would always be
writers. That was who we were.
We used
to take turns staying overnight at each other’s houses. I remember
sitting on Nancy’s bed with her stuffed toys reading my compositions
out loud to her, and listening while she read her latest work of art
to me. We gave each other support, suggestions, and encouragement.
I still like to give support, suggestions, and encouragement to
writer friends. Nancy became a technical writer and I write articles
and books about the mystery of world within and without us. It’s a
good life, indeed.
Author
of Arrival of the Gods in Egypt,
Carol Chapman will be co-presenting “Everyone Has a Book in Them” with Jean
Keating at the ATOM Center August 14 to 16.
