As I type the annular eclipse is just beginning. I’m sitting in the front seat of my car on a dusty road in the middle of a safflower field outside of Monticello, Utah. I’ll catch you up in a minute as to how and why I’m here with two friends and two dogs. But right at this moment — 9:10 a.m. Mountain Time — the main event is the fact that the moon has taken the teeniest tiniest bite out of the top of the sun. I’m switching back and forth between my real glasses, my eclipse glasses, and no glasses as I watch either my laptop screen, the sun, or the fields around us.

We’ve found the perfect eclipse viewing spot. As far as the eye can see there are farm lands with small rocky protuberances poking their heads up all around the horizon. We’ve got a 360-degree view — talk about Big Sky Country! But we’re also at 7,000 feet and it’s 29 degrees out, so we’re getting a little chilly. About twenty minutes ago we were met by a big farm dog and two kids walking up their road to see what we — the non-local tourists — were doing in their corner of the world. I’ll be back in a moment. I’m going to poke my head outside my warm car and see how the sun/moon occurrence is progressing.

The moon is munching on the sun from the top down. It’s a slow process. Maximum munch doesn’t happen until 10:32. Then we’ll have roughly four minutes of max-munch before the moon goes quietly back into its non-reflective lair behind the earth. Meanwhile up the road at the next high spot we can see a couple other cars have pulled up. And, at the same time, bounding through the safflower stubble is a lone male white tail deer. He stops briefly on the road to look at us — What exactly are the humans up to today? — before disappearing back into the field.

Southbound

Maybe I can take a minute now to backtrack a bit. Jackson and I left Nahcotta on a cold and gloomy morning last Monday for the beginning of my snowbird trip this year. After a stop at Sister Starla’s in Yakima, I met up with my caravan compadres in Boise, Idaho for the beginning of our trip together. We are all driving our own cars which I know isn’t energy efficient — though there is one hybrid in the bunch. It’s because after we convene in Silver City for a couple weeks, we’re all going our separate ways. In the meantime though, we’re having a blast. We mapped out our route a month and a half ago — zooming several times to decide on stops and hotels.

Trip mates are Stephanie Ames from Florence, Oregon and Vicki Reece from Astoria (with pup Blu). Everyone has brought different talents, skills, and miscellaneous stuff to make this trip fun. Steph is an award-winning photographer and has lens and camera gear galore and — critically important! — off-road coffee-making equipment. Vicki brought three walkie-talkies so we can converse on the road as long as we stay within a mile or so of each other. (Our road names are Foxfire, EasyCheese and BluMoon.) So we’ve had a blast commenting on what’s passing (especially the amazing geological features), deciding on places for the next gas-up or off-road stop, and news in general. (Though part of the beauty of this trip is that we’ve been able to duck most of the horrific and controversial Israeli/Hamas tragedy.) We’ve only had to rely on our cell phones if someone gets out of range or lost or wants to go faster or slower than other compadres. My contribution is our final destination, an ex-dentist office I affectionately call “El Diente” (the Tooth) in Silver City, New Mexico. We’ll be there tomorrow.

OK — I’m jumping out of the car again to check on the sun, moon, and the earth’s progress — keep in mind that everything’s moving. (It reminds me of the friend of poet Rainier Rilke’s who had to stay in bed his entire life because he felt too keenly the movement of the spheres. Everything made him nauseous.)

Picture this

Steph has her tripod up and an enormous lens in place. But Vicky and I have been trying to make do with our iPhones for photos. My iPhone camera is extremely confused about both the eclipse and the filtering lens that we keep handing back and forth. It gives both the sun in its full glory and several tinier reflected suns. We can’t seem to figure out how to take a decent picture of the eclipse phenomenon, although I’m sure if we’d spent sometime googling this online beforehand we’d be breezing through. We’ll have to rely on Steph’s impressive set-up. Even with our naked eyes — properly protected, of course, by appropriate sunglasses — the eclipse is starting to look very cool: sort of a like a Happy Clown smile.

In the moment

OK, I abandoned my laptop and just sat and looked at the advancing moon. What surprised me the most is that it didn’t get very dark. Even a small ring of the sun’s fire is still enough to light up the place unless you are directly in the moon shadow. We did notice the temperature drop though. I put on a second layer. Then on the moon’s way out, that Happy Clown Smile turned upside down and became Sad Clown Frown, before it faded away into just another stunning fall day. While we were waiting for the resolution, Steph set up a coffee/hot chocolate/tea station in the middle of our country road. We’ve had too many blessing to count today.

Here and home

Now I’m typing in Gallup, New Mexico (after an absolutely amazing stop at the Antiques Corral in Cortez, Utah) and anticipating a Silver City arrival. We had a spectacular dinner at Dickey’s barbecue. (Nothing like a pile of pork ribs, barbecue sauce and gooey potato salad after a long day on the road.)

I’ve been sharing photos and talking to friends back on the Peninsula. “The Rocky Horror Picture Show” was an outstanding success. Art sculptures for “Off the Beach” are displayed at Veteran’s Field. (Bette Lu and a slightly different configuration of musicians — Spindrift — performed.) And I hear that Water Music Festival was stunning, as usual. Everything is happening everywhere. Isn’t the world marvelous!