Thanksgiving 2001- Wishing on falling stars

Nov. 22, 2001

Dear Adams family,

Thanksgiving arrives with uncertainty about the future. It will not surprise if nostalgia for the 1950s and pre-Vietnam War 1960s surfaces the yearning to reclaim our innocence is so strong. But the 1950s were scary, too, the fallout shelters and the duck-and-cover drills at school and a crazy Soviet named Kruschev beating his shoe on the desk at the United Nations.

Nostalgia has limited powers to reassure. When unnatural events occur, the natural world offers the greatest solace and counsel.

At 2:30 Sunday morning, DC and I and the dogs set out to see the Leonids meteor shower. We drove north to get away from the city lights. Lots of cars were at Cape Rock Park, a place where the occupants usually are more interested in anatomy than astronomy. An ensign named Girardot who built a trading post there nearly three centuries ago could not have known a fine city named for him would materialize nearby day by day, year by year.

Low clouds obscured much of the sky along the river so we headed west. A car soon fell in behind us on the twisting country road. After awhile, DC worried that the headlights in our mirrors would ruin our eyesight for gazing at meteors. Flashing red lights appeared as we pulled into a church parking lot to let the car pass.

Sheriff's deputy: "What are you doing sir?"

Me: "Searching for meteors." There is a first time to say everything.

Sheriff's deputy, scanning my eyes for signs of intoxication or untruths: "We pulled you over because you were going a little below the speed limit, and we've had some break-ins out here."

This seemed a bad time to question the logic of stopping a car because it was going a little below the speed limit or to expose the deputy to DC's theory about the effect of headlights on the ability to see shooting stars.

Just then, threatening growls and barks erupted in the back of our van as Hank and friends recognized the sound of an alien voice. "OK," the deputy said, convinced no burglar carries around his own alarm system.

Present-day scientists estimate that 100,000 meteors an hour fell during the peak of the Leonids meteor storm in 1833. That is nearly three per second, a virtual rain of fire. Then, scientists were uncertain what caused the lights in the sky. Many people thought the Judgment Day had come.

Now, some people see the approach of Judgment Day in the twin towers falling in New York and the fire raining in the Middle East. The future remains uncertain.

Our search for stars ended on a dark road 45 miles away in Southern Illinois. Clouds still obscured two-thirds of the sky. I stayed in the van, lowered the seat back and gazed out of the moon roof. It was nothing like 1833, but the show was pretty good.

DC stood outside the van with the dogs. She entreated me to come out, insisting I was missing the real show. She saw five meteors at once.

"It's like an umbrella of shooting stars." But the van was so warm and comfortable, like being at a planetarium laser show. I grumbled and unkindly asked why she wanted to dictate the experience I was having. DC quieted. A pall of misunderstanding was cast on the night of wonder.

When my ego finally let me go outside the van, I discovered DC was right. It was cold and uncomfortable leaning looking straight overhead, but the spectacle of falling stars was outside where the view was 360 degrees. I needed more perspective. Here was the awe that disagreements and wars can make you forget.

Owls hooted. Dogs barked from far away. Did they know this was a special night?

Aboriginals in camps saw these meteor showers eons ago. Their explanations were based on their inner knowledge of the cosmos, not on astronomical equations. They knew the hoots and the howls and the fire raining from heaven were all part of the same great mystery.

On all those falling stars, here's wishing you a chilly and uncomfortable Thanksgiving.

Love, Sam

Sam Blackwell is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian.