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Susan Young is the Bangor Daily News opinion editor.
I’ll admit it: I was an eclipse doubter. What’s the big deal? It’s a lot of waiting around for a bit of darkness. If lots of people want to come to Maine to spend their money and stare at the sky (safely wearing approved eclipse glasses, of course), good for them, I thought. But, centering a day around the eclipse wasn’t my thing.
I was wrong.
I was so lackadaisical about the whole thing that the only pair of eclipse glasses I had was the pair that cartoonist George Danby had thoughtfully given me. Several pairs that a friend had kindly sent for the rest of my family were held up by last week’s storm and the postal service’s now slow intra-state service. They didn’t arrive until Tuesday, long after the big show. Those will be donated to a group collecting used eclipse glasses for future use.
Twenty-four hours before the eclipse, my husband drove to numerous stores and secured several pairs of glasses at a local hardware store. Hours later, the cashier at our local grocery store mentioned that he really wanted to see the eclipse, but he didn’t have any glasses. I handed over a pair. It was part of the magic of the eclipse experience, an astronomical occurrence that brought people together, if only for a day or even a few hours or minutes.
My daughter and I had long ago planned an appointment out of state for Monday without thinking about the eclipse. So, in the pre-dawn darkness we headed out of Maine, with eclipse glasses, just in case.
After our appointment in New York City, we had a late lunch and decided to head to Bryant Park, the nearest open space in midtown Manhattan.
Weather forecasts had called for clouds over the city all afternoon, but the sun was visible. Before the eclipse started there were a couple hundred people in the park. Soon, the green space began to fill. People put on their glasses. The mood was one of expectation and camaraderie.
My daughter remained skeptical. Then she put on her glasses and looked up as the moon covered a chunk of the sun. “That’s cool,” she admitted. Cool indeed. And, it only got cooler.
We moved to a better viewing spot among a crowd that now numbered in the thousands. Behind us a vendor was trying to sell eclipse glasses for $25 a pair. He convinced one man to pay $25 for two pairs. The man took the glasses, shaking his head at the last-minute inflation.
A woman sitting next to us didn’t have glasses, so we shared our pairs. The three of us took turns looking at the sky and describing what we saw. We made room for a couple with a baby in a stroller. Tiny acts of humanity that can sadly feel unusual in our often-heated national discourse.
With heads tilted upward, we watched as more and more of the sun disappeared behind the moon. For a while the clouds did blot out the show. When the clouds dissipated and the eclipse became visible again, the crowd clapped and cheered.
In New York City, the eclipse was about 90 percent. When the sun was nearly covered, the sky darkened and the temperature dropped. There was an eerie glow. Then, slowly, more and more of the sun became visible again and people, including us, went on with their day.
Then, we got back to Maine and saw the amazing photos and videos of places in the path of totality. Places like Sugarloaf, Patten, Houlton, and Woodstock, New Brunswick. I was stunned.
What we saw in New York City was cool. What happened in parts of Maine during totality was nearly unbelievable. From atop mountains, it looked like sunrise or sunset – in every direction. Stars were briefly visible in the darkened sky. Talented photographers captured solar flares. People cheered, cried, hugged, toasted one another and our amazing universe.
While the eclipse was fleeting, the sense of amazement and the awe of the shared experience should be long-lasting. In Millinocket, 11-year-old Tristan Rainbow said the eclipse changed his life. It was a sentiment I heard from many people in Maine as they gushed over a spectacular few hours spent with family and friends, or total strangers.
I had a great day with my daughter and we took care of important business, but a part of me is sad that we missed seeing, and sharing, a total solar eclipse.
In 2045, my home state of Colorado will be in the path of a total eclipse. I’ll be 78 years old. I’m making my plans now.