Big big big—out to the very edges.
We’re in outer space, another planet, an alternate reality. Things are not as they’re supposed to be, or how they’ve ever been or will ever be again, and it’s the best thing that’s ever happened. The boundaries and patterns of nature, the things we take as guaranteed, and build our patterns and life and world around are gone. Flipped on their head.
How could I have thought of doing anything else today but this?
I was hesitant to join, it seemed fun but not necessarily anything noteworthy. But we went out on a limb and Michael roped me into his half cooked plan to go to Vermont to watch the total solar eclipse. I’d have to take a day off of work, which is a hassle. But sure, I’ll go, I’m banking on not regretting it.
After we decided to go, we find out our little brother, Andrew, and his wife, Katelyn, already made plans to camp overnight in Erie, PA and watch from there. We pivot and decide to join them. Sunday morning, April 7th, we made the seven hour drive to Erie. After a miscommunication with the campsite Andrew and Katelyn originally booked, they found a new site at Uncle John’s Elk Creek Campground, right in the path of totality.
After we decided to go, we find out our little brother, Andrew, and his wife, Katelyn, already made plans to camp overnight in Erie, PA and watch from there. We pivot and decide to join them. Sunday morning, April 7th, we made the seven hour drive to Erie. After a miscommunication with the campsite Andrew and Katelyn originally booked, they found a new site at Uncle John’s Elk Creek Campground, right in the path of totality.
We quickly found out that the eponymous John likes to talk. You don’t have a conversation with John, you get caught in an, albeit entertaining, conversation with John. Pontificating as his wife describes it. “That’s the word of the day” she says, “he goes to McDonald’s at 5:30am and pontificates to his group about weather and who’s died.”
“I love my granddaughter.” He says, “When I found out my daughter was pregnant with her by a real deadbeat I hired a guy to kill him.”
“What happened?” I ask.
“Someone else killed him first.”
“That’s lucky.”
John, according to John, has been in two movies, met Lebron James, his granddaughter is a famous photographer, and her husband is a commander of–
“He’s not the commander of anything” his wife interjects.
“John loves people. I don’t. I hate people.” She says as she kindly chats with us and offers us free iPhone cases from the bowl of iPhone cases “I got them at the warehouse”
“What happened?” I ask.
“Someone else killed him first.”
“That’s lucky.”
John, according to John, has been in two movies, met Lebron James, his granddaughter is a famous photographer, and her husband is a commander of–
“He’s not the commander of anything” his wife interjects.
“John loves people. I don’t. I hate people.” She says as she kindly chats with us and offers us free iPhone cases from the bowl of iPhone cases “I got them at the warehouse”
The relaxation of a fire burning and a morning coffee in hand was squelched by the forecast of impending rain. We quickly packed everything and sat in our cars watching the drops roll down the windshield, taunting us. Based on the various radars we’re monitoring we decide to drive west, just over the border into Ohio where the cloud coverage looks more promising.
John pulls up as we’re leaving and before I can say goodbye he says,
“Take down this number.”
I take it down.
“That’s my granddaughter’s number. You should hang out with her”
“Where does she live again?”
“Alabama”
“Okay, John.”
“Take down this number.”
I take it down.
“That’s my granddaughter’s number. You should hang out with her”
“Where does she live again?”
“Alabama”
“Okay, John.”
We arrive in a small town, Conneaut, just west of the Ohio border. It feels like a cross between a suburban, midwestern town and a shoretown. We pull into a park with an open field and a steep set of stairs leading to the shore of Lake Erie. Thick, mashed potato clouds loom large as we debate whether we should go farther west. We decide to stay and take our chances. It’s early, maybe 10am and I don’t expect the clouds will clear. Or at least I’m not letting myself believe it.
We spend the next few hours kicking around. Watching the sky and holding out hope.
We spend the next few hours kicking around. Watching the sky and holding out hope.
The clouds started to break.
