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COLUMBIA, S.C. — Look, up in the sky!
It’s the sun. It’s the moon. They’re lining up! The sun is getting smaller and smaller, each time I steal a peek through my special solar-viewing glasses. (Thank you, by the way, to Eye Care Specialists, who gave away so many pairs at their Rutter Avenue location.)
The scene is getting darker! And an eerie wind is picking up! It’s blowing through the leaves of the magnolia and palmetto trees in my sister-in-law’s garden here in Columbia, where the eclipse will soon be total.
Unless, unless … hmm. What is that big, fluffy cloud doing up there? It seems to be poised to cover the sun and moon just as they rendezvous for their big solar/lunar dance. Sigh.
I hear a disappointed groan from my husband, who made this 700-mile drive with me from Wilkes-Barre to our special vantage point in South Carolina. It appears that, just at the crucial moment, our view will be blocked.
Then, suddenly, the cloud breaks apart, or drifts away, whatever clouds do. The moon is black and the sun’s corona is gleaming around it — and it all happens so fast I can scarcely take it in.
It’s magical. It’s fascinating. Mid-day turns dark, and then brightens again, so rapidly. It’s beautiful. It’s like a miracle.
My husband is shooting photos like mad, and I am just staring with naked eyes, as awe-struck as our hunter-gatherer ancestors must have been when this happened long ago.
And then that really special, total eclipse is over. In 2.5 minutes.
So, I asked myself, was this spectacle worth the 1,400-mile round-trip? And, would our meandering drive south still have been time well spent if that big cloud had refused to budge?
The answer came to me almost immediately. Of course the trip was worth it. Because it’s all about the journey.
Certainly, I’ll remember the sight of the sun and moon lined up in the sky.
But I’ll also remember the bear that lumbered across the road as we drove the Skyline Drive in Virginia.
And the antlered deer that loped along the side of the Blue Ridge Parkway.
And the horses we stopped to ride at a stable along the way.
And the pedestrian bridge we used to cross the Potomac River from West Virginia into Maryland during a little day hike at Harpers Ferry.
And the friendly people we met, including a French couple in the crowded breakfast nook of a Roanoke, Va., motel. Madame did not speak much English — it was Monsieur who explained they had traveled all the way from the Riviera to view the eclipse in the United States — but she was the one who spotted me balancing a bowl of cereal on my knees as I sat on a small sofa, and insisted on making room for strangers at their little table.
They had driven down the Skyline Drive, too, it turned out, so we compared notes — with me pantomiming a fierce “bear” with raised claws and a running “deer” with big antlers — and the French folks teaching me how to say those words in their language.
Perhaps they regretted inviting a crazy American to their table. But, more likely, they didn’t. They seemed to be simply enjoying their journey, too.
