Of course, I wanted to “shoot the moon” as it passed in front of Ole’ Sol. It happens that the Lodge at Onawa Lake is smack-dab in the middle of totality as the eclipse moves northeast from Mexico and up to Maine. But would it be worth it to travel 2,000 miles for a lousy photo like everyone else’s, risking cloudy weather and the good chance of if not snow then knee-deep mud? No.

But wait, the Lodge needs new flooring in the kitchen and if we don’t get it scheduled now, the vendors will get busy with summertime work and we’ll be left with nothing. And while we’re at it, we want to redo the downstairs bathroom so our guests can visit us without roughing it on our 50-year-old golden throne and tub. Plus, Anna Rolande Hempstead and Oliver Hempstead are getting baptized the Sunday before the eclipse so we can add that to the list. And we haven’t seen the fam in three months . . .  You get the drift . . . Rationalization complete, tickets booked and off we go, leaving Friday AM and returning Wednesday PM. One more “meant to be” factor: Rebecca, Esme and Griffin are coming Wednesday to visit us in Florida, so we booked the same flight. 

Getting to Onawa Monday morning, the day of the eclipse,  was a breeze – clear skies and dry pavement all the way. Even the Onawa Road was passable without too much difficulty. We were ahead of the crowd so the traffic wasn’t bad. Half of the Northeast was in Maine, it seems. We had to walk down through some snow and mud, but nothing too serious. We opened the Lodge, turned on the heaters and the cell repeater for Internet and phone access and prepared for the big event.

The eclipse was scheduled to start at 2:19 PM, go total for 1 minute 44 seconds from 3:31 to 3:32, and complete at 4:40 PM. I had about 3 hours to get my act together. The first question: where to set up for clear viewing. Thankfully, the skies were absolutely clear with temperature in the mid 50s. Perfect weather, despite a strong breeze  from the northwest across the still frozen lake.

It was important to me to do the shoot from our shore of Onawa Lake, not some parking lot or baseball field. But our view to the south is obscured by a hill that leads up to the railroad tracks and some pretty serious pine and deciduous trees. I did some research and learned that the sun would be at an azimuth of 238 degrees, roughly southwest, and an elevation of 37 degrees. My bet was that “Cannon Rock” in front of Spring Side Lodge (the Hemman/Kennedy building) might work. And sure enough, it sufficed. There were a few branches at the beginning and toward the end. If anything, I rationalized, they will add a bit of character to the otherwise stark black-and-white images.

I started shooting at the appointed moment and took pictures every 5 to 10 minutes throughout the period. You can see the results in the images presented below. (300 mm lens on a Fuji XT-2 camera, 1/250th exposure at f5.6 with an 8.5 stop neutral density solar filter).

The “money shot” for an eclipse is totality, the brief moment when the moon completely blots out the sun. And I was, thank goodness, successful, as you can see in the images. The white fuzz surrounding the moon is the sun’s corona. The red spikes are called solar prominences. I understand that we were lucky to have them for the eclipse; they don’t happen all the time. They are loops of solar plasma that can extend out as much as 93,000 miles from the sun’s surface.

I’ve included pictures of Onawa, mostly for those who’ve been there. You can see what springtime at Onawa is like. We’re told that they had three snowstorms of 27, 24 and 8 inches in the last 10 days or so. Rain and warm temps have melted most of it. 

Judy has put together a video that documents the Onawa Lake environment while I took the pictures and how quickly the sky became almost completely dark during the total eclipse. Here’s the link:

https://judyrick.zenfolio.com/p308488979/hf1f94285#hf1f94285

Bottom line: mission accomplished. We got our plumbing and flooring folks in motion for late May work, we had four nice meals with family and friends, enjoyed the baptisms and now we’re looking forward to fun in Florida with Rebecca and the kids this week. Jeff and Carter come to us at the end of April. 

Life is good!

Click on the first picture for a slide show.

 

I’m not alone, I’d guess, in searching for signs of inspiration these days: Anything to lift the spirit and provide serenity, hope and assurance in this time of fear, uncertainty and isolation.

Nature’s a good place to look, right?

Yes and no.

Our routine, these stay-at-home days, is to go for a walk, usually in the evening just before sunset. Judy and I walk down the golf course in front of our Sun City Center house, making a loop that covers six golf holes. It’s about a mile and a half and we do it in less than an hour.

One stop on our way has been to see the mother Sandhill Crane sitting on her nest on a small island in a pond just off of the Hole 7 fairway. We first noticed her nine days ago. Since then she’s been sitting patiently, waiting. We saw no mate until yesterday.

Yesterday we took our walk in the morning, and sure enough, around 10 AM, there were three where before we only saw one: Mom, Dad (he finally showed up) and a baby not much bigger than a softball. Mom and Dad pecked away looking for bugs and slugs to eat. Baby followed their lead looking for bugs of his own.

One egg remained in the nest, unhatched. Mom would occasionally sit back on the nest but only for a few seconds. Hope dies slowly, even for this mother crane.

That’s great – the kind of spirit-lifter I’ve been looking for. What a great family! Do birds feel pride and love when they give birth? Maybe not, but those birds fooled me. And the baby’s attraction to and trust in her parents was obvious.

Then, the real miracle. As we watched the family set out on its first venture off the island to dry land and the wild world beyond. First one and then the other parent waded into the shallow water. Baby didn’t hesitate. With legs too short for wading, he paddled along with Mom and Dad, up the bank of the pond and away they went down the fairway, pecking the ground as they went.

Joyous feeling: complete. There is hope in this world after all!

Until today.

We returned to the nest this evening to find Mom and Dad back on the nesting island.

Alone. No baby in sight.

Mom and Dad seemed to search the immediate area looking for their offspring. Then they broke into what I took to be a mating ritual, leaping, one after the other, into the air and squawking bird calls to each other. Or was this an expression of grief and wishes that they could start all over again so as to make it all better?

Again, who knows what flows through the mind of a bird with such a tiny brain. But sadness and disappointment were, to me, clearly evident in their behavior and are emotions that we share with them.

Oh well, one might say. That’s nature. But in this case, it wasn’t. A near-by homeowner came out to tell us that the baby was killed by a dog, running off leash, yesterday afternoon, less than eight hours after leaving the nest. The dog was accompanied by its owners who rode in a golf cart while their dog, illegally, ran loose. Mom and Dad put up a fight, the man said, but to no avail.

So now to sadness and disappointment add anger. Sure, the baby might not have survived against natural predators. But to lose out to irresponsible pet owners is too much, for me at least, to bear.

And the egg remaining in the nest? It’s gone, eaten by an alligator sometime today, the homeowner told us.

We return you now to Covid-19, already in progress.

Update: April 2: The nest has been repurposed as a tanning salon for the neighborhood baby ‘gator. Digesting his egg, no doubt. Nature moves on.

 

Forty six years ago this morning I was sitting by the pool of a motel in Topsfield Massachusetts with my mom, dad and brother, my high school English teacher and Judy’s cousins Debbie and Sharon.. Forty six years ago today at 2::00 PM I got married.

Today at 2:00 PM the four-masted schooner the Margaret Todd cast of its lines for a two-hour cruise of Penobscot Bay. Sitting next to me was the same gal – Judy – who exchanged I Dos with me 46 years before.

Forty six years ago we never would have guessed that we’d share this anniversary with two grandkids – Carter and Reagan – on a trip to Mt. Desert Island. Nor would we ever guess that we’d be living next door – literally – to Griffin and Esme – our two other grandkids.

And we of course had no idea that our union – truely a blessed union as it turned out – would produce Jeff and Rebecca, parents of the aforementioned grandkids.

The one constant across the last 46 years is the place we left this morning for this adventure: Lake Onawa. I visited Judy and her family there nine years before our I Do day 46 years ago today.

The four of us set out around 7:30 AM and by 11:30, Dunkin’ Donuts stop included, we were buying tickets for the Margaret Todd. We walked the waterfront, ate crab and lobster rolls (and, the house specialty, a bowl of mac and cheese) and boarded for the cruise under full sail for two hours. The day was beautiful, a National Park ranger provided commentary and the views were the typical coast of Maine seascapes you see every month in DownEast magazine.

Carter had the most accurate 10-year-old observation: « thé first part of any trip flies by. The last hour goes on forever.«  He was more than ready to walk the plank as soon as we tied up at the town dock

The next stop had Carter written all over it: Thunder Hole  Did it matter that the hole produced no thunder? Not at all. Carter burned all his energy stored up on the cruise jumping and running on the kelp- and barnacle-covered granite rocks  He gave his poor elderly grandparents continual heartbeat stoppages watching him  Even his sister got into the act: ”Careful, Carter! Don’t run so fast  Stay away from the edge.”  Eventually she decided if she couldn’t lick him she’d join him and went boulder hopping with him out of sight behind a huge granite outcropping near the water’s edge  That got Nana into the act: “Grandpa, you stay up here with me  The kids are fine. Don’t you fall and kill yourself trying to follow them.”

Everyone escaped and we traveled on to Northeast Harbor in search of a lobster dinner with which to celebrate 46. We settled at a low-key inn at Seal Harbor. While lobster was on the menu at a reasonable price they had none on hand so we settled on newburg and halibut, promising ourselves  lobster tomorrow night.

Then on to the Anchorage Motel to check in; 15 minutes later we walked back a few blocks to the Bar Harbor Town Green for the 8 PM open-air band concert. Carter was less than thrilled. At 8:04 he pointed out two nearby ice cream stands  I said ok but not until 8:30: a twenty six minute eternity.  So I walked him once around the green and timed his solo circuit and said, “Carter, make 10 more loops and we’ll do ice cream “ He did, we did and now we’re snug in our two double beds for the night.

it took 46 years to get here but what a trip!

 

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