We live in interesting times! Rocks exploding in the Russian sky … A comet cascading along the local, happy horizon. The East Coast recently dazzled by a mighty meteor … occasional “sun dogs” girding the sides of the Sun … blessed halos circling the lesser light of the Moon. Surely, “the times, they are a changin’.” But I pose to you folks the American challenge: in what manner are you changed? Can we, paraphrasing President Kennedy, together consider a grand and County-wide astronomical alliance, north and south, east and west, to assure a more fruitful life for our ordinary days?
May I offer an example, a gateway to that collaboration? On Sunday, March 17, early evening, I worshipped at a hastily conceived altar within the parking lot frontier of Caribou Shop ‘N Save. “Goliath” assembled, we pointed arguably Aroostook County’s largest telescope toward the vault above. The elusive Comet Pan-STARRS remained our primary close encounter. High overhead, a blazing star point announced the presence of a king: Jupiter, king of planets.
A spectacular waxing crescent moon hovered a finger-width away. The “bulls-eye” of Taurus’ Aldebaran glared nearby. What a lovely sight! A few witnesses marveled at the craggy lunar surface that only the “Goliath” could offer. And lo! The occasionally elusive satellites of giant Jove shyly manifested in the eyepiece of the “baby” telescope joining the freezing scene.
As twilight magically softened daylight into evening-tide, I started an elusive binocular search for the brightest comet of the last 16 years. Electronic reports from the southern United States looked promising. Sadly, I saw not a glimmer of a comet. And to tell the truth, this type of frustration, along with bitter cold, usually thwarts most skywatching. My frozen (fill in the blank) attest to that. Good neighbor John, my accomplished companion from the Maine School of Science and Mathematics, had already vanished in search of some heat within the supermarket. Somewhat desperately, at approximately 8 p.m. I extended my boundaries and permitted my search to extend farther to the northwest within the encroaching glare of the inevitable light pollution which devastates the souls within our city. Suddenly like the hair locks of young Prince Absalom, I found the shafts of the comet grappling within the uplifted branches of a tree planted by the Caribou Public Library. It was so tiny, yet so sublimely defined — a tiny flashlight fanned out its arrival.
And the voice of the “New Frontier” spoke: “Let us invoke the wonders of science, instead of its terrors.” I could hardly believe my eyes — the heavens suddenly declared a new arrival to our skies — like a rare iridescent fish broad tailing for the sharp-eyed.
Although comets, through historical lore and legend, symbolized through the centuries, omens portending the death of kings and worse, I can only feel joy — a joy of the wonder of something so new and yet so terribly ancient. I became conscious of powers and purposes and passions far beyond my silly sojourn. A new found humility makes itself known at such moments. And for all of you as well. Our ability to see teaches our heart new discoveries, new information to process within our human and distinctly American quest.
If, as songwriter and poet Leonard Cohen claims, “Democracy’s Comin’ to the U.S.A.”, perhaps it’s time for all of us to look up. Since that landmark in time and space, the comet and I, she and I become better acquainted — at least five more encounters from the end of Paris Snow drive. Her “hair” now extends like a vapor; her eye a bright condensed knot of light. But our planet’s clouds jealously obscure her arrival and appearance too often. Alas, I wait for the next clear night. For as the poet says: “This is my job to study the Universe from my bridge.” Will you join us?
Larry Berz of Caribou is director of Easton’s Francis Malcolm Planetarium and astronomy instructor at the Maine School of Science and Mathematics.
