In August of 2017, my family took an overnight backpacking trip to be in the right place to see the total eclipse. My husband had done a ton of research to find a high clearing, Tusquittee Bald, with perfect visibility of the eclipse, only an hour or so from us. We hiked in with friends the night before, and camped about half a mile away.
That morning we got up, excited and ready, and started making our way to Tusquittee Bald. As we hiked, we started to realize that lots of other people had the same plan. When we got there (after a very tough last few hundred meters) we found a perfect eclipse-viewing clearing–and about 40 people packed into it, with more coming all the time. Our spirits sank a little. Would all of this planning and work come to nothing?
A moment later, a guy in his early 30s walked up, introduced himself, and said, “Hey! It’s awesome so many people are here! A few of us are clearing some brush, and we’re making some places to sit. Feel free to drop your stuff over there!”
By making himself the informal mayor of Tusquittee Bald, this one person transformed everyone’s experience of that day. What could have been tense, grumpy, and territorial turned into a serendipitous and welcoming group experience. While we waited for the big celestial event, people chatted, shared food, played with dogs. We learned that people had traveled from many states away to be there. The group continued to grow as the eclipse drew nearer, and every new arrival was greeted warmly, and everyone had a place to be. We even took a group photo.
If you had asked me ahead of time whether my ideal eclipse experience was one that was shared with 60 strangers, I would have said no. But now I think it was perfect. I loved that we all traveled and worked hard to get there, and that we got to see this rare phenomenon together, as a temporary but unified group, marveling as one.
