As midnight approached, I stepped outside and looked up. There were no clouds in the night sky, but even so, few stars were visible. Too much light pollution from the street lamps and too many neighbors in surrounding houses watching David Letterman reruns. Yet it was the best I was going to find in a southern suburb in the middle of August.
My husband and I were visiting my parents, and we realized we’d be in town during the peak evening of the Perseid meteor shower. I figured this annual celestial show—one of the best—called for a celebration. Earlier, the family had gathered together and polished off chicken kebabs from the local market marinated in teriyaki sauce, fresh corn on the cob and slices of caramel cake. Now I poured wine, my brother turned out every single light in the house, and we all settled into lounge chairs on the patio. Somewhere in space hovered a shining planet and a chunk of waning moon, so we stared east for the best views and tried not to blink.
I loved space as a kid. When I was growing up in Ohio, I would set out a blanket in grassy fields on warm summer evenings and lose myself in the big sky. My otherwise girlie bedroom was decorated with posters of voyagers tumbling through the solar system, and I begged (and begged and begged) my mom to send me to Huntsville, Alabama for Space Camp, but she never did. Years later, when I’d finally thought to ask why, she said it was because I threw up in cars, planes and boats.
“What does that have to do with Space Camp?” I’d asked.
“The rides simulate a moon bounce, a spin through the atmosphere, and the force of a liftoff. You would’ve been miserable.”
It’s true. The realities of life can shatter the fantasies of youth. An astronomy class my freshman year in college confirmed I wasn’t cut out to be an astronaut (so much physics, so little stargazing). After moving to Los Angeles and spending most of my adult life in a smog-filled city, I’d all but forgotten about the cosmos. But the night of the Perseids, I allowed the arms of the universe to enfold me back into its gorgeous beauty.
For the celebration, I’d asked my wine connoisseur friend Mike to recommend a crisp summer white and a light red; he suggested Kim Crawford sauvignon blanc and Sanford pinot noir. Great picks, yet I couldn’t resist opting instead for a red zinfandel from a sustainable vineyard I’d found on a shopping excursion the day before. The name on the label—are you ready for this?—Shooting Star.
We sipped and waited for our eyes to adjust to the dark. Then the evening show began. Meteors blazed by in dazzling, magical streaks of white at approximately ten-minute intervals. A firefly flickered next to my arm and I marveled at the symbiosis between the tiny bug and the backdrop of stars and galaxies light years away.
An ancient legend says if you make a wish on a shooting star it’ll come true. I held my breath as the next fireball painted the heavens and lifted up a silent prayer: to always remember the night sky.
Free Entertainment
Meteor showers provide magnificent free entertainment, and in our warm climate, you can sit out and watch them year round. Coming right up on April 21, the Lyrids will peak at about 20 meteors per hour, as will the Delta Aquarids later in the summer (July 28), but May 5’s Eta Aquarids will offer only about 10. This year’s Perseids (August 12) are expected to produce as many as 60 meteors an hour, but since the Leonids peaked their 33-year cycle in 2001 with hundreds an hour, November 17 will more likely bring 40. The biggest thrills come December 13, when the Geminids may produce as many as 120 multicolored meteors an hour. Try these spots for best viewing:
Griffith Observatory Show up around 7:45pm any evening the observatory is open and you can borrow a telescope and chat with experts about space. Visit griffithobs.org.
Joshua Tree National Park Dust off your tent and head to Joshua Tree National Park, where you can set up camp for ideal star gazing (with minimal light pollution from Palm Springs) all night long. Visit nps.gov/jotr.
Post Ranch Inn If you’re willing to drive five hours north, Big Sur awaits. Stay at the eco-friendly Post Ranch Inn, and amateur astronomers will point out cosmic wonders four nights each week (Sunday, Tuesday, Thursday and Friday). Visit postranchinn.com.
Mt. Pinos Less well known than Big Bear and Arrowhead, Mt. Pinos is also quieter, less populated and darker, making it very attractive to stargazers. Spend the night in one of the campgrounds (seasonal), stay over in nearby Frazier Park, or drive back the 80 or so miles and tuck into your own bed to dream of shooting stars.
Photo courtesy Jimmy Westlake
