January 17, 2023: About a week from now, a green comet will zoom by. Best chance to see it will be as it aligns with the handle of the Big Dipper in the northeast. The weather forecast says it will be clear and cold. Looking forward to the moment, but something keeps nagging at me.
At some point, I have to admit my idiosyncrasies. So much time as a social worker, surrounded by people, pushing connections and with constant collaborations. I’ve retreated so far from it. Back then, astronomy was an at-home hobby that took me away from the craziness that filled my days. But it’s all behind me now. Big change. And yet, astronomy has remained a solitary exercise. No need for that anymore. It’s become too lonely. The comet’s arrival has brought it home. Wouldn’t it be better to view it with others?
January 18: It’s like looking into the Grand Canyon. Got home late after a trip to Phoenix. Cold and crisp night. Stepped out of the car and stared right at Orion and Canis Major. The stars were as bright as I’ve ever seen. Just perfect conditions except it was so cold. Did all of you see this? How do we look away from such wonder? I didn’t want to, but of course, I did. I’m afraid, I think, of just wanting to keep staring.
January 19: Should have gone outside, but stayed in, stayed warm and made it a basketball night. Kept thinking about last night. I know it would have been a great sky. I assume tomorrow will happen and everything will still be there. But, really, don’t I have to stop assuming everything will just keep happening? I keep asking, though, where is the line drawn between always wanting (needing?) a dose of awe and becoming obsessed?
January 20: Saw an article recently about Muscida, the Big Bear’s nose. I’ve looked too often at the other end of the Bear, the Big Dipper. Will single it out tonight. I know nothing about it, never given it any thought. It’s got at least one exoplanet orbiting it, a gas giant larger than Jupiter. The star itself is much larger and more massive than the Sun. Just a classic example of how I am drawn to the shining objects and tend to neglect something just as special nearby. The Big Dipper always gets the glory. I know, though, that we always need to look a bit beyond, to see what else there is. Headlines be damned.
Funny how the obvious seems so hidden until it’s laughing right in front of us. Muscida is a great sight. Made me look at the entire constellation of Ursa Major. Just magnificent. Also made me realize that all that collaboration from years ago was for a good reason. Obviously. Now, it brings me to where I need to be. Back to collaboration. Back to sharing.
January 21: 5:00 a.m. On my back porch. Cold, but no wind. I look well up in the sky, just a bit to the East. Looking for something green, but instead I see what I know must be the comet. Not green, but a large smudge, hazy, bigger than I thought. 50,000 years to get here. Binoculars did the trick. I look around into the darkness. I hope others are looking, too. All I could say was “found you.” Wonder what others are saying.
Are there folks out there interested in observing the sky together every so often? There are endless possibilities. Comparing telescopes and binoculars. Visiting different dark sky locations in the area. Being the core group putting together routine community star parties. Collaborating on recent sightings and alerting others to what the next week’s or month’s observations may reveal.
I see it as a group of backyard stargazers, just folks who find awe when looking up, wanting to share the feeling. Maybe it could turn into a resource for local schools.
If you are interested in such a group please email me through the newspaper at: prteditor@gmail.com. If there are enough responses we’ll advertise an initial meeting in the March edition of the PRT.