Totality Awesome!

When I learned last fall there would be a total solar eclipse on April 8 and the cabin would be in the path of totality, I knew we had to be there. I marked the date on the calendar and bought three pairs of eclipse glasses. Don wasn't sold on the idea, since it fell before we opened the cabin for the season, but I was determined.

By February, I had talked him into it, and I followed preparations in Vermont and across the path of totality, which curved from Mexico, through Texas, Arkansas, Missouri, Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, and New York to Vermont, then on to Maine and the Canadian Maritimes. I studied how to take photos and ordered a solar filter for my phone.

Northern New England wasn't on anyone's list of good locations for viewing. The chances of cloud cover at the cabin were 80%. But I decided it would be worth a try. 

The hype built as the day drew nearer, and when the 10-day forecast came out, lo and behold it called for sun in Vermont! I held my breath as I checked each day, and the forecast for clear skies held. By the time we were two days out, clouds were predicted for everyplace BUT northern New England.

We drove up Sunday morning, the day before, with blue skies and light traffic. We arrived in the early afternoon and set about opening up -- turning on the refrigerator and propane heating stove, making beds, and cleaning up after the mice who spent the winter. It was too early to turn on the water, so we were glamping.

At 3 p.m., Don and Sarah watched the NCAA Women's Basketball championships between Iowa and South Carolina. South Carolina won, despite Caitlin Clark's mad skills.

By evening, eclipse trackers were predicting ideal conditions for northern New England, while elsewhere in the country was iffy. Sarah spent the night at Gabby's, and Don, Abby, and I bundled up against the cold.

We awoke Monday to the news that northern New England would be the best place in the country to catch the eclipse. Who would've thought?! We puttered around the cabin and the yard until early afternoon then broke out the eclipse glasses. I set up my phone, with its solar filter, mounted on my selfie stick/tripod.

The eclipse began at 2:14 p.m., with the moon passing slowly over the sun from lower right to upper left. I took photos along the way to totality; some were pretty clear, but the sun was tiny. Don joined me around 2:45, and Sarah came out about 3:15.

Credit Rob Swanson, The Islander

Totality started at 3:26 and lasted 3.5 minutes. It was significantly darker, and the horizon was lit up all around -- a 360-degree sunset. The sun was blacked out, with hot pink spikes at about 3:30 and 6:30 (on a clock face). As I had read, time passed quickly, and before we knew it, bright light returned to the lower-right quadrant. Just then, fireworks erupted to the north, at the Alburgh Totality Festival. Why people have to make noise during a profound natural event is beyond me.

Credit Rob Swanson, The Islander

Credit Rob Swanson, The Islander

We knew traffic would be bad, so we hit the road as soon as we could, leaving the cabin around 3:45. It was smooth sailing through the islands and onto I-89, but traffic slowed to a crawl in Burlington and barely opened up the rest of the way home.

Fortunately, we were well prepared with food and drinks. Don had packed sandwiches, which is de riguer on road trips, and the snack bag was full. Our neighbor Liz had dropped off some Pepperidge Farm Milanos in memory of my uncle a couple of weeks before, and we considered them survival food. The call would go up, "IwannaMilano!" and the wish would be fulfilled.

After four hours of driving -- when we'd usually be home -- we were in Barre, about one-third of the way. Traffic was backed up on every side road. All of the rest areas were packed, with lines outside the portable toilets in the parking lots. 

We decided to get off the freeway and find a back road for a bathroom break. Sarah was not amused by the lack of accommodations and even grumbled about using a five-gallon pail. Abby did her business without complaint.

Traffic came to a near-standstill about 15 miles before the I-91 interchange in White River Junction, and it took another hour to get there. By that point, it was dark, and we'd traveled 115 miles in six hours, halfway home.

In the back seat, Sarah passed the time on her laptop, practicing her AP research presentation. I was knitting -- and keeping Don stocked with snacks -- in the passenger seat, and she kept asking me discussion questions. Once it was dark, I could no longer see to knit, but the questions kept coming.

Sarah's friend Augustus had traveled to Rangely, Maine, with his family for the eclipse. They were making their way across northern New Hampshire on secondary roads before getting on I-91 north of us. Meanwhile, three school buses had taken kids from Sarah's school to St. Johnsbury. Sarah was sending and receiving updates via social media.

We passed another hour-plus in gridlock caused by a single-lane stretch due to bridge work over the Black River and reached Brattleboro at the nine-hour mark, 12:45 a.m. After a slowdown at the junction with Rte. 2, we cruised home, arriving at 1:45 a.m. 

We learned later that one of the school buses had broken down on the way north, while the other two arrived back at school at 9:30 p.m. Augustus got home at 2:45 a.m.

Tuesday morning arrived quickly, with everyone getting about three hours' sleep. I drove Sarah to school, so she could get an extra 30 minutes' rest. It was a loooong day.

I still can't believe we had clear skies. Imagine if we'd had cloud cover and still had to struggle to get home. I'd rather not.