The Naked Eye

Last week there converged such a synchrony between the International Space Station, frogs, and motherhood that heaven and earth melded into a chorus of belching croaks, high technology, and parental love. It didn’t even register as an afterthought to the Universe, but to me it was something.

My family and I took a little road trip up to western New York state. The main draw was two waterfalls (Letchworth and Niagara) and since we’ve already discovered that ski towns in the summer can be hidden gems, we set up camp in an Airbnb at a ski resort 90 minutes east of Niagara Falls.

The quiet countryside stretched out around us as we wandered around the region. Multicolored green hills, scraggly marshes, some farmland, and wind farms sat along curvy stretches of two-lane road connecting towns and villages. It was so pretty and so quiet, but if you are getting to know me at all, it was at night that the spectacular views broke loose. Having resided in an urban or suburban setting for the last twenty-five plus years, a rural night sky has become a vacation pilgrimage standard.

So, this is how I roll: a certain percentage of our luggage space in the car was devoted to the blankets we’d use to eggroll ourselves up in on the ground at night to take in the rural dark sky. Luckily, we fit everything else in, too--guitar case, ukulele, coolers, binoculars, games. We are people of equipped luxuriation.

As it turned out, once we arrived up there, a colleague suggested during a Zoom meeting that I try to see the International Space Station. She explained how to find the schedule for the ISS flyover for any place on earth. It just so happened that the ISS was to fly over us that very night in NY at an angle high enough to see above the mountains surrounding us, and in a sky clear enough to spot with the naked eye. Apparently, this doesn’t always happen. I paced the rest of the day for the night to come.

I was curious about when that term ‘naked eye’ came into usage. It was in circulation by the 17th century when the microscope and telescope started to appear in Europe. There would have been a new need to differentiate between the technology emerging at the time and what had always been used (the regular old eye), but don’t quote me on that. Regardless of how the term took hold in the lexicon, we use it today when you take in the world using only the equipment you were born with. Even though it’s mind-boggling to think how miniscule and vast we’re able to observe with the help of technology, our unaided sight still allows for something special: slower contemplation of bigger picture ideas connecting our existence to time, place, and meaning. Sometimes when I pause to watch, there is a quieting that connects ideas I hadn’t joined before.

The ISS was not new to me. Back in the spring of 2016, the father of a player on my son Quinn’s high school baseball team, Jitendra Joshi, invited anybody in our big baseball family to come watch his NASA science experiment launch off to the ISS in a rocket from Cape Canaveral during Spring Break. Dr. J, as we called him, figured someone might be running down to Florida for a family vacation. Whoever could make it down there would get to see the launch from the VIP area. It happened that my kids and I were heading down to see my aunt’s family in Bradenton. I responded to his email immediately: We’ll come!!!

My own rocket launch crew grew to include my cousin’s husband and son. Suffice it to say, it remains one of the most exciting things I’ve experienced. It was a factor of, how shall I say, goosebumps. We could hear the entire pre-launch protocol exchange between land crew and rocket crew on a loudspeaker booming over the large group of us big VIPs. That alone would have been enough for me. It was the real deal, and utterly geeked-out magnificent. The launch was late at night and quite the initiation for someone who’d never stepped foot onto NASA property before. At lift-off, the fire exploded like a flashing cloud and then pushed the massive rocket up through the atmosphere. It was a dazzling show of untold dedication. For an onlooker like me, at that moment of launch, it was exhilaration and humility caught up in one tightly held breath.

So, up in NY I tried to get buy-in from my group to go outside at 10:30pm to see this ISS. Quinn agreed to trek back over to the cozy patch of gravel we’d discovered nearby for a Perseid meteor watch the night prior. It was at the bottom of a ski lift which stood still like a ghost. The only characters in that pitch dark were me, my son, and a slew of frogs in the marsh to the side of us. I mention the frogs because they made themselves known the entire time.

Quinn and I nestled into our blankets, propped heads up on bath towels, and settled onto the ground as our eyes adjusted to the dark. The frog chatter notwithstanding, it was as peaceful as it was majestic. If I ever doubt there can exist a counterbalance between seeing life as inconsequential and seeing it as an unfathomable gift, then peering into our galaxy will always squelch that. I’ve watched the stars my whole life, from childhood to now, and I have yet to figure anything different. I am both meaningless and infinitely, impossibly lucky at the same time. These meetings with the Universe always take me from the towering heights of futile questioning to a delicate landing onto the extreme preciousness of this planet. I’m overcome every time.

And why is that? Why, after all this time, am I not jaded when these hard, inevitable questions face my tearful love for life on Earth? Probably because I’m human.

The International Space Station is visible to us thanks to the sun’s light reflected on it during a part of one of its 15.5 orbits each day. At night, when everything is dark, the ISS will occasionally fly into a section of your view that is still lit by the sun. Before and after this brief span of mere minutes, it disappears into thin air. It’s magical. You can track it online to see when it’ll fly over you at a high enough arc and through clear enough skies; then pop outside to watch. It’s super easy.

The ISS finally appeared above us. At first, you’re not sure that the bright spot is the spot you’re looking for until you realize it’s not a plane. It suddenly shows up and suddenly you’re trying to verify. Then it becomes obvious. Quinn and I chatted softly from our cocoons about the ISS, about life, and various concerns. We talked about family dynamics. We shared memories. We asked questions. It was one of those simple conversations riding atop deeper waters. They only come around so often with him. The stars out there know none of this kind of thing.

After the ISS sank into darkness, we pushed ourselves up off the gravel, gathered the blankets, and headed back to the condo. The frogs were in full concert by then, jamming in a controlled riot. “Bye, you funkadelics,” I told them, which fell on deaf ears. I gave a little wave anyway.

Since our ISS spotting in NY, I’ve now spotted it twice more. I can see this getting to be a thing. Those folks working in the space station are going to get sick of me. I won’t blame them. I’m thinking maybe one day Jeff or Elon or Richard will choose me to ride in one of their rockets for free. That would be nice. Until that day, I’m happy to lay on my blanket, rolled up like a pea in a warm pod, gaze up at the heavens, and ask, “How wonderous is this one lucky life on this one lucky planet?”

I won’t have an answer, but the stars will tell me it’s beyond measure.