Those of you who witnessed Monday’s solar eclipse will understand that the phrase, “words cannot describe the experience,” is not hyperbole, but rather, speechlessness is an understatement.
I can only share my own experience.
With the intention of witnessing this phenomenon unfolding on sacred ground, I positioned myself accordingly. Seated with my back up against Tower 2 of the Single chairlift at Mad River Glen.
ECLIPSE MASK
As the final chairs loaded, moving skiers up the mountain to witness the eclipse from the summit, I felt the vibration of the chairs traveling down the tower and into my body. Transmitting. It was as if a thread of energy was connecting myself to each skier passing above me.
Our daughter, Olive, lay heavy against me. Usually full of vigor, she was feeling under the weather and after skiing the morning, had put her remaining energy toward making an eclipse safety viewing mask, complete with googly eyes.
After watching the progression of the eclipse for about 15 minutes, she curled in towards me and fell asleep on my chest, like a baby. I held her close and felt her breath rhythmically rising and falling. Her heartbeat against mine.
GOLDEN HOUR
While witnessing the eclipse move towards totality, I felt my soul grow quiet. Every fiber of my being honed in on this present moment. I saw myself from above, cradling Olive on the same snow where I fell in love with skiing as a child. Just like my mother before me, and her mother before her. This is our soul home.
As the light began to shift into golden hour, the sound of Bobby’s cameras clicked all around me. My husband sending off electrical currents as he feverishly photographed, funneling months of anticipation into the artistic prowess necessary to capture what we were witnessing.
My ears tuned into the sound of Bigfoot County playing Pink Floyd’s “Dark Side of the Moon” from the deck, while Mad River Glen family members gathered outside the Basebox, waiting with bated breath. The tone of Bobby’s eager laugh caught my attention and I turned to see the Single chair trio climb up Tower 1, creating one of my favorite images of the day. These legendary lift ops seated like giants, briefly abandoning their post to watch the sun to put on its show.
IT'S TRUE!
Watching the final slivers of sunlight disappearing from view, I heard someone cry out, “it’s true!” The sound of astonishment at actually bearing witness to a sight foretold. For only upon seeing with the naked eye, can we mere mortals fully comprehend what it will feel like to watch the sun fall from view midday.
As humans we make our predictions and calculations, so sure of what is to come. In reality, we control nothing but ourselves. It’s true, totality arrived to our place in the world at exactly 3:22 p.m., as forecasted. But in that moment, it became crystal clear how small we really are.
FELL TO MY KNEES
When the moon eclipsed the sun, tears burst from my eyes like stardust. I sharply inhaled, and involuntarily exclaimed, “WOW”! Emotion sweeping over me, like the rush of a tidal wave.
I had woken Olive shortly before totality, lifting our bodies from the snowbank at the base of Tower 2 and awkwardly stumbling forward, as if moved by an invisible force. Holding my child, I fell to my knees in the snow, eyes wide, mouth gaping, tears streaming down my cheeks. I was unable to avert my eyes from the halo of light, framed by a silhouette of the Single chair.
In a manner characteristic to her truest nature, Olive calmly took in this wild view. She pointed to Jupiter, glowing bright just below and to the right of the eclipse, “there by the mountain, that’s Mimi,” her great-grandmother who brought us to this magical place.
SOMETHING MUCH LARGER
Our friend Ry, who watched all this unfold from his home in Waitsfield, said that at the moment of totality, a howl could be heard sweeping through the town. The sound of a community stopping the flow of life to witness something much larger than themselves.
For in the instant that the sun disappeared, so did the warmth, and in that moment the fear of how precarious our existence is came sharply into view. Each moment so fleeting.
I cried out to Bobby, reaching for him and he rushed to me, wrapping us in his arms. We kissed and felt the warmth come back to our skin, as the light returned to our Happy Valley.
I’d never felt so sure that I was exactly where I am meant to be.
Kintz lives in Waitsfield.
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