2024 Solar Eclipse—Junction Texas

professional eclipse photo from website:

https://www.picturecorrect.com/photographing-a-total-solar-eclipse/

We traveled to Texas to watch the 2024 total eclipse, a plan we created after witnessing the 2017 eclipse not far from our home. All the most powerful adjectives describe a total eclipse--stunning, spiritual, spectacular, sublime, astonishing, mesmerizing, extraordinary, legendary, a marvel. Yup, every one of those.

We originally planned to view the event in Kerrville, Texas, thinking that the further south we go, the better chance for clear skies. It did not work out that way, but we still saw much of it. "The cloud" did not move in until about the time of totality. We missed the diamond ring, but saw plenty.

We ended up driving to Junction Texas, 50 miles west of Kerrville, as that morning the latter was covered with a very thick layer of clouds. Junction's broad blue sky was enticing, until, well, that cloud. We had fun on the Kimble County Courthouse lawn, talking to people from all over, listening to the band, watching folks play games. Before the eclipse we walked down to the park and staked our spot. We had bought 2 cheap Walmart camp chairs so we could relax during the event.

At the courthouse in Junction these cool bags were given away for free!

Kimble County Courthouse, built 1928 after the two previous buildings burned down.

Below is an assortment of t-shirts we saw on this trip--there were many more so this is only a sampling. You might ask, why, when you've witnessed this marvelous once-in-a-lifetime heavenly manifestation, are you highlighting the t-shirts? Well, there are way better photos online of the eclipse itself. The shirts are part of the culture of the event.

This one was worn by members of a tour group from the northeast part of England; the English woman said I could "absolutely not" take a photo of their t-shirt, but her man didn't mind at all.

We should buy this one--we have had this once-in-a-lifetime experience, twice!

Clever😁

A baby-boomer wore this one; I wonder if younger people get it?

Junction City Park

We met up with some family at an Austin Texas BBQ spot--two of my husband's brothers, one of his sisters, and their families. My age 98 m-i-l (center) traveled 1300 miles to be there, thanks to her daughter who made it happen.

Last fall we saw the annular eclipse 2 hours from our home. We found a good viewing spot, but clouds, so we raced a few miles down the road for a better spot. Not so many folks watching that one. I'm enthralled by the marvelous manifestations of nature, both earth and sky.

NOTE: if you ever plan to travel to see a total eclipse, ALWAYS go for 100%. I hear people say that well, 98% or 99% is close enough, but that itty-bitty percentage variation will give you a very different experience. Go for the gold. The reward is worth whatever trouble and money you expend.

Traveling Light

When making reservations for a trip between Helsinki and Sarajevo, the Lufthansa website informed me that my baggage could weigh no more than 18 pounds and was restricted to carry-on only. Wow, it seems that even my small roller bag alone weighs almost that much when empty. Taking a roller on this trip was out of the question.

It has been forever since I have traveled with more than one average-ish size roller bag and one personal item (with the exception of bringing a suitcase of American hud to leave with Bridget overseas). The days of using multiple bags have passed. It's inconvenient, awkward and slow to lug luggage around. Packing light is a superior way to travel. I figure that if I need another piece of clothing there will be plenty for sale at my destination. I never do, though. It's easy as pie to bring clothing made from fibers that can be washed in a sink and will be thoroughly dry before needed the next morning. Besides, now that airlines nickel-and-dime us to death, cheapskates travel light.

I recently traveled w/ another person on a four-day trip. The traveler brought five bags, so multiple baggage fees were paid. Yeah. The person was so encumbered by stuff that they had to rent a car to carry it around, rather than using the cheap and convenient train for local travel. What an expensive burden it was for said traveler. But I digress.

Using a thin nylon backpack from my stash of a zillion packs, I got an idea of what 18 pounds of luggage looks like. It doesn't look like much. For $16 on Amazon I bought an almost weightless nylon backpack so the weight of the carrier would not take away from what I needed on the trip. Winter travel requires more clothing than warm-weather jaunts.

In addition I took along a very small travel purse with a shoulder strap long enough to wear angled across the chest. Important small items went into that: passport, wallet, chapstick, a pen, sticky notes, toothbrush, and change of underwear in case of extended or unplanned layovers. Using the purse kept me from having to remove and dig through the pack for frequently needed items.

It all worked like a charm. The main items included in my pack were: base layer top and bottom for warmth, one extra pair of nylon travel pants, several very lightweight tops, 1 scarf, 3 pair underwear, 3 pair wool socks, a buff, one pair black slipper-like shoes for nice occasions, small hairbrush, medicines, a few cosmetics / lotion / razor / toothbrush and paste in a zip-lock bag, iphone, and a few miscellaneous items.

Even though winter travel requires clothes with a little more bulk, and some extra layers, the bonus is that in cooler weather I don't perspire as much, thus my clothing required less washing. And just so you know, my full pack weighed only 13 pounds.

 It was liberating! I will travel like this again and will think twice about bringing a roller bag.

Even the TP is Quilted!

Sisters, Oregon is a rustic, charming, scenic tourist mecca. Both summer and winter seasons are ideal times to visit Sisters. Old West charm and panoramic beauty invigorate one on a hot sparkling summer day. Hiking and mountain climbing are glorious experiences under clear blue sky that is not often seen further west in Oregon. Brilliant winter snow draws in cross-country and downhill skiers.

view from Sisters

photo: http://www.curbsideclassic.com/blog/the-curbside-classics-of-sisters-oregon/ 

Sisters has another claim to fame. An annual quilt show held every July attracts 10,000 visitors from all over the world. I have gone once expressly to the quilt show, and have passed through a few times on a jammed US 20 while the show was under way. Traffic inches along the two-lane road as through-travelers gape and gawk at the dazzling colors and intricate designs displayed on porches and buildings in the form of artfully stitched quilts. They hang from eaves and rafters, cables and clotheslines, waiting to be ogled by one and all.

quilts fly from every possible space

photo: https://countryheritagetours.com/tour/sensational-sisters-tour/

Truly though, this post isn't as much about the Sisters Quilt Show as about an amusing event that occurred the year I attended with a group of women who love quilting as much as I do. We strolled along the boardwalk eye-balling each quilt from inches away. No touching allowed. We noticed that down the street on an empty lot, a semi-truck had pulled in, and crowds were gathering around it. Lo and behold, the semi was painted with the Quilted Northern logo, the rear door was raised, and the driver was tossing out six-packs of Quilted Northern toilet paper!!

What a brilliant advertising stratagem! In minutes the boardwalks of Sisters were filled with quilters toting packages of Quilted Northern toilet paper tucked snugly under their arms as they continued on their quest to identify their favorite quilt. We quilters love anything quilted, including toilet paper . . .

I couldn't help but wonder what the through-travelers thought as they observed this astonishing phenomenon from their creeping cars. Was Sisters fresh out of TP? Was its slogan "you're welcome to visit but bring your own TP"?  Was Sisters's food so wild and crazy that one must have TP available at all times? Or was there something lurking in the Sisters water supply? I'll never know what travelers thought, but I won't forget the smiles on the faces of thousands of quilters each armed with a six-pack of cushy TP!

Non-Bucket List

humble Kilmalkedar Church on the Dingle Peninsula, maybe 800 years old; one of my most favorite  places on earth

"Bucket-list." Though a reasonable way to make sure that life goals are met, we should take care that we don't become more interested in checkmarks on a page as in finding richness in life. Thought-provoking involvement, especially interactions with people unlike ourselves, can't be scripted. Moments often come about when we eschew comfort, routine, and familiarity, and push away our fear of the unknown. 

My intrepid father was always up for an adventurous road-trip. He made Woody Guthrie's words our mantra, "from California, to the New York island." He drove our family across the width of the US in 1962, in our white Buick-Special station wagon, with four young children horsing around on the cherry red vinyl seats in the days before safety restraints. I learned that states and regions have varying personalities, each as fascinating as the next. What a thrill it was to pass by Indian wickiups in Arizona, like the ones I had studied in second grade (only these wickiups had TV antennas sticking out of them!). My child's eyes bugged at the grandeur of the mighty Mississippi as we crossed at St. Louis. We drove through industrial rust-belt Gary Indiana singing the song of that name from The Music Man. The corn in Iowa really is as high as an elephant's eye! And oh, the Empire State Building, the Staten Island Ferry, and the gigantic steel mills of western Pennsylvania! We weren't in "Kansas" anymore, or Southern California for that matter.

I've traveled in about 37 states. How wondrous it would be to travel to all 50, not to say "I have done it," but to joy in leisurely exploring and soaking up the personality of each one. 

Over the past 40-plus years my foreign travels have included Mexico, Canada, England, Wales, Scotland, Ireland, Netherlands, France, Austria, Germany, Belgium, Luxembourg, Poland, Czech Republic, Slovakia, Russia, Hungary, Bosnia, Sweden, Norway, Denmark, Finland, Estonia, Latvia, Iceland, Azores, Oman, Turkey, UAE, Syria, Jordan, Lebanon, Jerusalem. Some of those trips were quite the rough "bare-bones" experiences, and one was a very comfy, yet rather insular Baltic cruise.

S enjoying the little lighthouse on Sauvie Island, and a container ship on the Columbia River, a six-mile roundtrip hike not far from home

All of the places I have traveled teem with remarkable sites and people. When I think of them my memories are rich with color, feeling, emotion. They are not memories of dining in expensive restaurants, and rarely include wading through crowds to see a famous landmark, or confining my stay to the guidebook part of town. Here are some never-forgotten and even life-changing experiences:

Driving hopelessly lost in the hills of northern Mexico with my friend Sue, passing real tar-paper and cardboard shacks that were inhabited by real people. I didn't know.

My backpack being confiscated by an Irish railroad-station attendant suspicious it might be a bomb. Until then I did not realize how much "The Troubles" affected all aspects of Irish life.

Standing on a windswept hill in the townland of Ballynana near Dingle, County Kerry Ireland, divining the pull of the soil from my ancestors' beloved, enchanting domicile.

Bargaining in the souks of the Middle East, witnessing the Syrian military withdrawal from Lebanon,  and people-watching for three hours at Waterloo Station in London, waiting for my husband to show up.

Rolling out our sleeping bags for the night on the filthy floor of a train station in Luxembourg, because no money for a hotel.

Being trusted with the keys to a Vermont historical society so that I could come and go to research at my leisure in their 135-year-old facility filled with rare documents and artifacts loaded with rich stories and memories.

Sitting in a German stranger's home puzzling out my husband's family history with possible relatives.

Shock that a terrorist killed a man at the place I had stood on a cobblestone street in Jerusalem, 24 hours before. 

Hiking the mountains of Oman with children and grandchildren, when an Omani man, a total stranger, phoned his brother to come fetch us with his SUV, as he judged our littles were too tired to walk back to our car (the brother came).

Asking an Estonian teenager to show us the TV tower that figured central in Estonia's groundswell movement for freedom in 1989. Impressively, he knew exactly what I was speaking of.

Spending a few hours in the stunning emerald, azure Azores Islands when our plane made an unscheduled stop for refueling.

Attending a relative's funeral in coal-soiled, declining Miners Mills, Pennsylvania, a place that hasn't changed a bit in 120 years, at least. I palled around with my distant cousin Bob.

Being regularly engaged in discussions with folks from many nationalities, as we travelled through Europe during election season 2016. "What are Americans thinking?!" was the question of the day in summer 2016. 

Buying a bottle of 7-Ya (Russian version of 7-up) on a broiling Moscow day, and finding it an undrinkable concoction that tasted almost as good as carbonated drain cleaner. We abandoned it on the bus.

Running a mile through Dublin to catch the last train of the week to the Dingle Peninsula, when I was a roly-poly six-months pregnant.

Enjoying a guided tour of Al-Ain in the UAE, given by a wealthy Emerati man thrilled to show off his hometown. He drove us around in his Lexus SUV, treated us to snacks, and took us to dinner at an Indian restaurant.

Receiving a traffic ticket in Brattleboro Vermont, on the very street my great-grandmother was born in 1862.

Lingering alone for good half a day in Hagia Sophia, in order to view every square inch of that 1500-year-old treasure.

Spending the night in the "rustic" Umn Qais hotel in Irbid Jordan, and sharing a room with the largest cockroaches I had ever seen. The hotel name was spray-painted on the wall outside. Yup.

C and I sleeping on the side of a French country road in his brother's borrowed Chevy Nova, as lodging was too pricey for our college-student budget.

Breaking all the rules in Slovakia when my cousin smuggled me into a remote military installation so that I could visit the site of my grandfather's native village.

Traveling over Lippincott Road in Death Valley, an un-driveable boulder road with a several hundred foot drop on one side. The experience is now known in family lore as "the day we almost died."

Drinking warm milk from a freshly milked camel in the Arabian Desert of UAE.

Being ordered off a bus by a cranky driver in the middle of nowhere, five miles from our Dead Sea destination in Jordan. Fortunately a random beat-up pick-up truck loaded us up and we enjoyed the rest of the trip in the bed of that vehicle.

Striving not to stare while Mr. Andreas S. was doing his gardening wearing a shamelessly ungenerous speedo, in Austria.

Taking along the local Irish parish clerk--Padraig Lynch--on a day-trip around the Dingle Peninsula, viewing through his native eyes fascinating features we would never have known to look for.

Waiting for a taxi on a street-corner in Amman Jordan, with an Iraqi family who had arrived there first. When the taxi arrived they refused to get in, deferring to us, because we were Americans. American soldiers were liberating their country at that very moment.

Spending a day exploring Bay Ridge in Brooklyn NY, and standing speechless in front of the now derelict brick nine-bed "hospital" in which I was born and spent the first week of my life.

Fear of being abandoned in a transit station in Bratislava Slovakia, because I had no Austrian marks to pay the bus fare. Somehow I got ahold of some but don't recall from where, nor do I know why they would accept only Austrian money at a bus station in Slovakia.

The unfortunate event of seeing the inside of a hospital in Anchorage Alaska.

The heartbreak of listening to an elderly Slovak woman relate the horror of waking up to Soviet tanks surrounding her city in the 1968 invasion. She described the old women screaming and crying, afraid  World War Two was beginning all over again.

Driving around Liege Belgium and then Luxembourg in the middle of the night looking for a train station, hoping Craig's family had arrived somewhere.

Begging a security guard to let me into the Wells Fargo history display in San Francisco, when it was already closed for the day (he did). Begging the monitor at New York's MOMA to let me run down a hall for a close-up look at Wyeth's "Christina's View," when her job was shooing people out at closing time.

Arguing with a Kremlin soldier who wanted to confiscate my camera before allowing me entrance into Lenin's Tomb. He had a big gun.

Touring Sarajevo with a friend and survivor of the 1992-1995 siege and being shown such places as Sniper Alley, and memorials to the hundreds of children slain during the siege. And later attending an exhibit of artwork putting forth the emotions of the siege; one of the installations was created by our friend.

Sleeping a night in the Bishop's king-size bed in a Catholic monastery in Massachusetts (he was away that night 😊).

Hearing my son-in-law, in fluent Russian, shame the management of historic Spis Castle for their neglect of this extraordinary site, by declaring, "It's so Soviet of you."

Realizing we were locked for the night in the choir loft of a Catholic church in Skibbereen Ireland by the custodian doing his evening duty, unaware we were there.

Hiking across Bulls Head, a headland above my ancestor's domicile of Kinard East, and accumulating a ton of gorse in my socks and clothing and hands. I wondered how they stood it.

Standing on the bridge of the USS Missouri at Pearl Harbor, in the exact spot my father stood on as he acted as the Captain's talker 1944 to about 1946.

Making a solemn visit to Oise Aisne Cemetery in Northern France to visit the grave of a cousin of my Grandfather's who was killed in August 1918.

For the rest of my life I plan to hike until I can't anymore, walk on the beach often, visit family again and again, take grandchildren on journeys, meet interesting people, enjoy what I can, help where possible, learn from everything.

Kind Omani man who was summoned by his brother to drive us to our car after a hike; he wanted to take us to his home for tea!

Beacon Rock summit, a favorite destination in the Columbia Gorge with C, D, me, H, S, B

Hidden Counenoole Beach on the Atlantic Ocean, Dingle Peninsula, close to where my ancestors lived

We visited Hickory Flat earlier this year, my father-in-law's birthplace. Hickory Flat is a "suburb" of Aquilla Texas (population 109)

I chanced to meet amiable, interesting miner-loner GK on the outskirts of Death Valley

Estonian TV tower that played a part in gaining freedom from Soviet control

Mt. St. Helens--Again

 St. Helens from the north; we climb from the south and stand on the rim at the center top; the bulge in the crater center is the lava dome

After summiting Mt. St. Helens some years ago my friend and I decided we should do it about every five years or so, just to see if we still could. It's a brutally hard climb for me. Others who have strong constitutions and fabulous lung capacity breeze up the slopes easy as I climb a flight of stairs. But that is not my gift, and really isn't even within the realm of my capability. I do it anyway, in my own snail-ish plodding way, because: active volcano plus geology freak = must experience.

I climbed successfully for the first time about 1997, then 2006 and 2011. Back in 1994 I got maybe halfway when climbing with a group of high school students. The wind was terrible that day and when snow began to fall we aborted the attempt.

In 2016 it was time to try again, but my knee was giving me trouble so we put it off. This year I was not excited about making another effort, and didn't think it was possible for me to summit. But what the heck, why not give it a go.

My friend and I camped overnight at Climbers Bivouac, same as we have done previously. We hit the trail at 5:30 a.m. and watched the forest gradually grow light as the sun rose. The weather was biting--probably in the 30s, and crazy windy. Never fear, I wore a thin wool long-sleeve base layer over my shirt, base layer leggings under hiking pants, a thin wind-proof shell, wool socks, hiking boots, gloves and head cover.

 let's hit the trail!

sun's up!

After about 2.5 miles on the upward forest trail we began the climb through the rocks.  Out in the open the wind shoved us around. My sunglasses kept the blowing ash and cinders out of my eyes. The huge rocks take a ton of energy to navigate. My short legs keep me from leaping gracefully from rock to rock like a mountain goat. I'm more of a lumbering groundhog straining to heave my bulk up to the next level.

Out of the rocks and about a thousand feet from the summit, I bonked. My blood sugar hit the basement which startled me, because I had been eating the right foods at regular intervals all the way up. My progress was halted within sight of the goal. Elated climbers were lined up on the rim above. So close and yet so far.

After a rest I resumed the climb with a sensible tried-and-true strategy. If I put one foot in front of the other and counted out 100 steps between rests, and didn't think about how far it still was to the summit, then it could be done. And the strategy was successful! It seemed like an eternity, but there I was on the rim gazing down into the smoking crater. Forest-fire haze closed the curtain on the usual views of Mounts Adams, Hood and Rainier. But still, what a glorious place to be.

 summit!

On the descent we slid quickly down the ash slope, then came face to face with the rocks. It's even less fun going down through them than coming up. This time we skirted below them on the west side until the forest trail picked up to the east. The climb up took 6.5 hours, an hour longer than my longest previous climb, and 1.5 hours longer than my personal best. The descent? Probably 4-5 hours.

As usual we celebrated our success at Burgerville USA in Woodland, Washington. When the server asked if I wanted whipped cream on my hot fudge sundae, I thought: "Heck yeah! I just expended a zillion calories climbing MSH!"

Will I do this again? C has his instructions: if I ever talk about climbing MSH again, he is to take me out to the back 40 and put me out of my misery.

Burning Man For Nerds: Totality and Solartown (part 1)

Create thousands of campsites, invite tens of thousands of campers with a multitude of cars, add enough gear to fit out a small nation, fly in 400 small planes and executive jets, trek a collective millions of miles, line up hundreds of porta-potties, blend the air with smoke from local forest fires, drive in a fleet of food trucks, throw in scores of bicycles and a couple of imposing NASA satellite trucks.  Stir all together for an extended weekend, then toss that batter out into the desert around Madras Oregon to bake.  Voila!  You have Solartown USA!

11 of our family enjoyed the experience of living in the miracle of Solartown for three days and two nights, for the sole purpose of viewing our first total eclipse.  Our six months of planning paid off as we lacked for nothing.  We even bought a canopy to shield us from the August sun, and it was worth every cent.  We transported all of our food and water, pillows, sleeping bags, tents, chairs, camp-stove, etc.  No outrageously expensive hotels for us!  And no standing in line for meals either, although a few times the porta-potty lines grew long.

 our campsite: 3 tents, 2 cars, 1 canopy

We camped among thousands but it did not feel like we were in a crowd. With one exception that I witnessed, every soul behaved, most kept to themselves on their 20’x20’ campsite, and we were all united in one nerdy purpose: that two minutes of totality on Monday morning, August 21.  I expressed to our camp neighbor that I hadn't known if this event would resemble "Burning Man" or what.  She said, "It's 'Burning Man' for nerds!!"  And she was right-on.

Solartown was birthed on a Kentucky blue grass seed farm, so we were not camping in hot dust, yay.  The grass was killed in 15-foot swathes to create roads between the rows of campsites.  Each campsite was divided from its neighbor by a one-foot strip of killed grass, to create a vast green checkerboard of 20’x20’ spaces.  The sites were tight, but we got lucky by discovering a row of sites that were (mistakenly, we presume) half again as large.  That made for a more luxurious area for our group, which brought three tents, two cars, and a 13’x13’ canopy.

 photo from our drone shows the layout of Solartown; we had 2 adjacent sites for our group

Our local media relentlessly gushed with gloom and doom predictions of 12-hour traffic jams, gas supplies sucked dry, empty grocery stores, etc.  Yet we breezed down to Madras, leaving at 5:30 a.m. Saturday, and made it there in the normal 2.5 hour driving time.  We filled up with gas at Warm Springs, no problem.  What a pleasant surprise.  Contrast that to heading home on Monday afternoon.  Though our traffic-y trip stretched to nearly 4.5 hours on that leg, we relaxed and felt it was a small price to pay for the marvelous experience of viewing a total eclipse.  Madras, population 6,000, certainly knew how to roll out the red carpet for its nearly 100,000 geeky visitors!

Here's a remarkable thing about those who inhabited Solartown: they did not trash the place.  Is that the Oregonian in them?  Well, tons of them sported license plates from CA, WA & BC. On Monday late afternoon after about half the campers had cleared out, I exclaimed that there was not a single piece of garbage left in the campsites. Everyone put their trash in a sack, then either took it with them, or set the sacks in a central spot for collection.

We're looking ahead to totality in New England in 2024😃

 another view of Solartown

 before departing for home

the local fairgrounds featured push-pins and a map to show where visitors originated

Burning Man For Nerds: Totality and Solartown (part 2)

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What can I say about viewing the totality of solar eclipse, except to use every superlative there is?  Magnificent, humbling, breathtaking, spectacular, striking, spiritual, sublime, impressive, awe-some, exquisite. All of these words fall short of describing the experience. I marvel at God's creations each and every day. This aspect of the Creation will always be tops for me.

I have been in several other partial solar eclipses, first when I was about seven or eight years old. There were no eclipse glasses back in the day, so our neighbor cut a hole in a shoebox so that we could watch the progress of the moon covering the sun. 

In February 1979 there was a total eclipse in NW Oregon where we live now, only we didn't live here then. We got close to 99% totality at our home in SW Idaho. It became quite dim outside, streetlights came on, and the air had an eeriness about it. Until this August 21st, I thought our 1979 experience was pretty amazing.

But there's an enormous difference between totality of a solar eclipse, and a 99% experience. They are actually two different things. Knowing what I know now, I would journey far to participate in totality. It's worth whatever effort or cost is involved.

To note the growing darkness, feel the evening breeze kick up, reach for jacket, gape at the sun's flaming corona, behold planets and stars in all their shimmering glory, in the middle of an August morning.

 our granddaughter with her custom made eclipse glasses, easy for a 3-year old to manipulate

 eclipse has begun!

totality

One bonus about our experience that made me supremely happy, is that everyone in our family participated in viewing the phenomenon.  Three of our children and four of our grandchildren were with us in Madras, Oregon. One of our daughters lives in SE Idaho in the totality zone, and her family watched it with a gathering of friends and relatives.  Our daughter's family in Finland watched NASA's online broadcast that originated from the campground where we were staying, so in a sense, they were with us. I'm elated that everyone felt as strong as I did about embracing this (possibly) once-in-a-lifetime event.

Watch our eclipse experience here

[see part 1 to hear all about Solartown in Madras Oregon]