Weeknotes: April 8-12, 2024

Midday, driving south down the backroads of Monroe County. Apparently I'm not the only one making a last ditch sojourn to Toledo to watch the solar eclipse in its totality. What should be an hour's drive takes nearly two and a half and I'm not sure if I'll even make it by the astrological deadline at 3:12 PM. In a driveway near Ida two women in lawn chairs facing a hop garden look skyward through welding masks. I listen to NPR's special coverage of the eclipse's progress across North America, feeling solidarity with all the other umbraphiles chasing this once-in-a-generation event. The sky darkens and I approach the Ohio state line with only about 20 minutes until showtime. I'm fully prepared to pull over wherever I am even if it's on the shoulder of I-75, though I'd prefer not to. Despite the eclipse traffic (a term I'd never considered until today), I'm enjoying the adventure and at 3:05 I’m racing south on Summit St., blasting Holst's "Mars: Bringer of War" at top volume, windows down, cackling like an idiot. With just minutes to spare I arrive at Cullen Park on Lake Erie's westernmost point, where a crowd of hundreds is already celebrating. Skidding into a beer & bait drive-thru, I invent a parking spot, grab my dark glasses, and hop across the street to lay in the grass, leaning my back against the park's blue boat launch sign. As the disc of the moon slots dramatically into place, erasing the final thumbnail of orange, I remove my glasses and stare bare-eyed and dumbstruck at what looks like a gaping black hole in the sky. It’s absolutely astounding. The crowd erupts in joyful applause as the temperature drops and together we share nearly two minutes of unified wonder. I can’t believe I’d considered skipping this. Despite spending most of the day in my car this is so fucking worth it!