Messages from the Sky: The Blue Moon, an Eclipse, and the Perseid Meteor Shower

Last week was the Blue Moon supermoon. It was called a Blue Moon because it was the second full moon in a month – hence the phrase ‘once in a blue moon.’ It was a supermoon because it was the closest to Earth on its oval-shaped orbit. 

I was excited to see the supermoon, as I’d missed the one on August 1^st. But then we got rain and cloud, and I couldn’t see the moon at all.

I was happy about the rain, ecstatic, even. It’s been a long, hot, dry summer, and our gardens are suffering as we conserve water because we’re in Stage 4 drought. We’ve been in a drought since winter, as we didn’t get as much precipitation as we usually do.

But I had to balance my happiness about the rain against my wish to see the supermoon. I was disappointed not to see the moon, but in my mind I’d decided I’d rather have rain. Besides, I had my chance to see supermoon minus one the next night. It wasn’t as big, but it was still awe inspiring, hanging there in the sky in between the two tall tops of the surrounding cedar trees.

But it wasn’t quite the same. Why? Because there was no one else to witness it. I remember watching a supermoon when we still lived up-Island. We used an online calculator to determine the best place to see the moon rise, and when we got there, on a bluff above the beach, there were cars lined up all along it. A group of children were kayaking in the bay below, and we could hear their screams and laughter as we stood outside our car, setting up a tripod and watching, waiting for the supermoon to arrive. There was a festival-type atmosphere in the air. People who were normally taciturn were chatting with other people gathered around the bluff. Then there was a hushed silence as the supermoon rose over the water, people talking quietly as they watched. My husband captured some great photos that evening. When it was time to go, everyone drove off politely, courteously letting cars onto the road and driving below the speed limit. It was a gathering such as I’d never seen before.

But last week it was just me, out in the yard in the dark, watching the day-after moon and pretending it was just as good as seeing the supermoon. There were no crowds, no cameras and tripods. No turning to your neighbour and saying “isn’t it amazing?”

It reminded me of Annie Dillard’s eclipse essay, written in 1982. She and her husband drove to Yakima, stayed overnight, then climbed a hilltop the next morning to watch the eclipse. While climbing, they “passed clumps of bundled people on the hillside who were setting up telescopes and fiddling with cameras.” When the eclipse happened, Dillard describes the response of the watching public, “People on all the hillsides, including, I think, myself, screamed when the black body of the moon detached from the sky and rolled over the sun.” It was a life-changing group experience that ended with the mundanity of driving home over the mountains and back to the coast.

Dillard hits the nail on the head about these types of events when she writes, “For what is significance? It is significance for people. No people, no significance.” The supermoon was like that – it had significance for people, which is why so many gathered to watch it. By the time I was able to see it a day later, on my own, that significance was lost. It had been a one-night event. Once in a blue moon.

A few nights after the supermoon, I saw a shooting star. Maybe it’s what I was meant to see. It made up for another celestial event I didn’t see, though I looked hard into the sky: the Perseid meteor shower, which peaked on August 12 and 13. I went out into the dark, our neighbourhood a rare dark sky preserve in a world full of artificial light meant to keep the night at bay. I took the dog out with me and she vanished into the yard in her black coat. I could barely see the white fur of her hindquarters: perfect conditions for watching the sky. But for as long as I watched, I never saw a meteor. Perhaps I should have gone out later in the night, or in the wee hours of the morning before the sun came up. But I don’t have the ability to be up at all hours, I sleep too hard and deep to wake myself up at 2 am to watch the stars.

The falling star I saw after the night of the supermoon minus one was my consolation prize. The heavens providing me with one small event, one that made me burst back into the house, saying “I saw a shooting star!” Maybe it wasn’t the supermoon, or the Perseids. But it was something I’d seen that I could save for myself. No crowds of people with cameras and chairs. Just me, out in the yard with the dog, watching the sky for some kind of sign.

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The next supermoon, the Harvest Moon and the last one of the year, is on September 29^th. I hope we all get a chance to see it. The next full eclipse is on April 8, 2024.