Common Nature

I sure do!

I’m something of an astronomy nerd; you have to understand that the great solar eclipse of 8 April 2024 was something I’d been counting down to my whole life. In my native Dayton, Ohio, I’d gotten to witness the strange begrimed 40-watt sunlight (1) and dappled crescent shadows of the partial solar eclipses of 10 May 1994 and 21 August 2017, after having gotten a fleeting confirmatory glance through SolarShields under welder’s goggles: the exercise was a bit like hunting basilisks or Medusa.

Another point is that I’m acutely homesick for the seasonal markers of the place where I spent 90+% of my life: the violets and wild chives and flowering crabapples, and the two equinoctial yellows of Moraine honeylocusts: neon chartreuse foliage in the spring, and in the fall flaming saffron—turning to orange piles of cornflake crunch beneath the feet. Even the lawn weeds here are unfamiliar.

Until a couple years in advance—by which time it was too late—I had not anticipated that, by the time the total solar eclipse at long last came to Dayton, I would be gone; behold the southern Gulf Coast of Florida’s experience of the Grand Portentuous Celestial Event.

( Continue. )

Taken on 17 April 2017 at 17:00 US Eastern Daylight Savings Time in Dayton, Ohio, US:





This is a snapshot, taken some years earlier, from the place I left in May of 2023. Cherry blossoms are relatively uncommon in Dayton, but flowering crabapples, in red, mauve, pink, and white, are a signature of spring—and this specimen, fallen face down onto the concrete sidewalk, is a perfectly serviceable representation of the sad beauty of transience. The flower is long since gone, of course; so is the tree that bore it, sawn down in the gentrification project when the property changed hands at just about the beginning of COVID quarantine; so is the irascible albino squirrel who claimed it as territory (you don’t seriously think that little expletive deleted deigned to hold still for a photo.) And now, in the Rust Belt desertion and inexorable southward demographic gravitational suck, I’m gone from the premises too.

(I never bothered to photograph much of the surroundings of my native and near-lifelong Dayton: first because I didn’t own a camera until 2010, and didn’t figure out how to host the images until the mid-to-late teens, and didn’t own a home computer of any sort until 2020, and above all because I never anticipated leaving until it was too late.)