Sometimes
where you are gives you a clear view of who you are. On the night of September
27th we were camping at Beaver Creek Valley State Park in the southeastern
point of Minnesota. The park is set in a heavily wooded valley. Because there are
no large cities nearby, the sky is especially dark and the only lights that are
able to permeate the dense, deep valley come from the heavens.
Other than the
soft glow coming from campfires and the few lights from campers getting ready
for bed the park was completely dark. There were no streetlights, no neon
lights, no floodlights, and no yard lights. There was only the light of the
moon and a million stars.
I live in
the country, but my home is close to some pretty good size cities. I have
always enjoyed looking at the stars, but I had forgotten that I have been only
able to see a few compared to the vast number that are visible when not masked
by the cast of neighboring city lights.
On that
particular night the Blood Moon appeared. The Blood Moon is a total lunar
eclipse when the Earth casts its shadow over a full moon and the moon,
embarrassed by the attention, blushes. Up and down the campground road people gathered
to see the show. They stood on the road to get out from under the canopy of
trees that obscured their view.
While the
man from a campsite across from ours was standing on the road gazing at the
moon, the woman busied herself inside their camper. Either she had seen a Blood
Moon before, or she planned on being around for the next one in the year 2033.
To think that she stayed inside because she didn’t care about what was going on
skyward seemed less likely.
Up at the
next place there were four trout fisherman sharing one tent camper. Based upon
no more than the perceived ages of the four, I surmised that there were two
pairs of elderly fathers and their middle-aged sons out on a fishing trip. Through
the darkness I could hear the voices of these four men standing on the road.
There they were, fathers and sons looking up at the rare event for the last time
together – for most likely the older men would not be around eighteen years
from now.
I hope I am
around to see the next Blood Moon, and what’s more, I hope to see it at a
campground. I’ll be seventy-four the next time it comes around and I don’t plan
on parking my truck anytime soon.
The nomadic
lifestyle has a certain appeal. While I still disdain much of the hassle of
camping and dislike being away from the comforts of home, I have grown fond of
the quiet campfires, the skillet breakfasts, the board games, reading by a dim
light, hiking, and exploring small towns.
It is
experiences like witnessing a Blood Moon from a dark forest floor that makes me
realize how small I really am and how very insignificant many of my problems
are. Sometimes it takes a big event to overshadow us.
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