It’s taken me two weeks to write this post. Not because I suffered from a dreaded case of writer’s block, but rather, because I needed time to fully take in what I experienced.
The total solar eclipse in North America on April 8, 2024, was not just a celestial event; it was a profound moment of unity that brought people from all walks of life together. Here in northern Kentucky and southern Indiana, we were blessed to be living directly in the path of totality. And because of this, the days leading up to the eclipse saw our local population swell with an influx of scientists, astronomers, and everyday people all armed with a variety of viewing equipment, ready to witness the rare solar spectacle.
For Marty and me, we made sure we had our solar glasses, some improvised protective lenses for our cell phones, and a cooler stocked with iced tea, a few beers, and a couple of turkey sandwiches.
But I must admit, before the eclipse, I wasn’t really getting what all the fuss was about. As a kid growing up in northwest Indiana (when dinosaurs still roamed the earth), I remember watching a solar eclipse through a pinhole camera I made in school. And even though I thought it was a pretty cool thing back then, it didn’t exactly rock my world. This was probably because in my youthful ignorance I didn’t understand that A) Hammond, Indiana was not in the direct path of the eclipse, and B) The eclipse was only partial. But now that I am older and (somewhat) wiser, I more fully appreciate the wonders of our planet and usually have the good sense to know when something important has happened.
So, sitting in our lawn chairs in the park that day, Marty and I looked around and saw a diverse sea of people. There were families and singles, the very young and the very old, a mix of races and cultures and languages, and even nations. Most were able-bodied but there were also those using wheelchairs or crutches. We had all gathered as a collective group of strangers to witness a unique natural event.
But when the moon passed between the earth and the sun, something very special happened. The birds stopped singing. The temperature dropped. The day turned to night. The streetlights came on. And,
Everyone. Stopped. Talking.
Then, in that initial moment when the sun was fully eclipsed, the crowd erupted into thunderous applause and celebration. Strangers no more, people were giving each other high fives, sharing food and drinks, and taking selfies with each other. It was if, at least for those few minutes of the eclipse, our en masse exuberance – which I understand played out over and over again around North America – transcended any barriers of nationality, language, culture, politics, religion, abilities, etc., – and instead, embraced our united humanity.
This time around, I found the eclipse to be incredible, and I’m so thankful Marty and I decided to take time off to watch it. I’m always blown away when I consider we are living on a planet which is spinning on its axis at approximately 1000 miles per hour, hurtling through space at 67,000 miles per hour, while it orbits the sun – a freaking star. Yet, we can’t feel a thing. And then there’s the fact that the moon, forever locked in earth’s gravitational grip, impacts the ebb and flow of our ocean tides, the plants we grow, and our planet’s animal migrations.
But perhaps the most remarkable aspect of the total eclipse was the way it brought people together in a shared experience of wonder and connection. In a time when divisions often seem insurmountable, the total eclipse served as a powerful reminder of our common existence in one world and our need for unity and interconnectedness with something much bigger.
Here’s a photo of the eclipse I took from the park:
