Totality

Saturday we were on the Interstate headed north and began noticing the number of cars from out of state. Like the game we played as kids, counting license plates, we added up the amount until we reached our destination.

I bought two pairs of paper “solar-proof” glasses in Montpelier several weeks ago before the supply ran dry. This was pretty much the extent of our eclipse preparation. On Monday I had to run to the bank, a relatively short, off-the-dirt-road trip. I was able to avoid the steady stream of traffic on the Interstate, ants winding through the mountains. I passed the parking lot at the head of the pond, slowed down to watch people taking photos of themselves pointing at “Berlin Pond” signage. As I drove by the Travel center I laughed at the sheer volume of people tailgating in the parking lot. Folding chairs set up in the back of trucks, people rushing out of the store, arms full of beer and snacks. A grill sent up gray smoke as it cooked hot dogs for a group of singing young people.

Paul and I walk up the road to have a view free from trees. Bronte trudges along beside as we carry two folding chairs and Kombuchas. From time to time she dashes up the rock ledge after a chipmunk or gray squirrel, stands at the base of the tree looking upward, waiting for the descent. Her reward is a chattering scolding.

We set up at the edge of the field above us, push on our solar glasses and see the beginnings of the eclipse, like a bite from a cookie. It was nice to just sit at the top of the hill. We leaned out heads back against our chairs and watched the progression. Our neighbor, Pete, wandered over with his own folding chair in his hands, his dog Cooper, trailing along behind him. He grumbled that seeing the eclipse was making him late to cook up hamburg for Cooper’s dinner, but he put on the glasses and tilted his head back like the rest of us.

One week before, I drove past this same spot on my way to the grocery store. I carried a carton of our eggs in between the front seats while Muir curled up against the back door. Driving up carefully I opened our friend’s paper box and slid the carton of eggs in. As I began to pull out I heard a thump, turned my head quickly and saw Muir fall off the seat and onto the floor in a seizure.

I’ve always felt that there should be some kind of red flag waved, an alert as to when something catastrophic is coming, but there never is. The sun shines, the chickens wander around pecking the newly exposed dirt, the red winged blackbirds cackle, daffodils push their way through the earth toward the sun. Winter departs and spring arrives.

I’d bought a small booklet detailing what happens during an eclipse. It came with a free pair of paper glasses and cost ten cents. I bought it because nothing costs ten cents. As we watch the moon travel in front of the sun we see the diamond ring and clap. I drink my Kombucha and watch Bronte lope across the field by herself.

When Muir’s fifth seizure was over he lay still on the floor. I was sitting next to him, leaning against the wall. I thought he had died, I hoped he had died. I watched his chest lift. He staggered to his feet, the effect of two Valium shots that would not help. My beautiful, three year old dog, who could levitate into the truck, crashed into the desk as he made his way over to me. Each time he got to his feet after a seizure he would look for me, his tail would begin to slowly wag as he walked over to have me hold him.

A little after midnight we called our large animal vet. At 2:00 AM Muir lay in the earth next to Sam.

As the moon obliterated the light from the sun, the wind began to blow colder, the birds stopped talking and the sky darkened.

Totality.