Just after dark, the southwestern sky is a splendid sight. Orion, the hunter dominates the scene. Above and to the right is his nemesis, Taurus, the Bull, with its bright, V-shaped head. To the right of the Bull’s head is brilliant Jupiter.
Amateur stargazers often train their telescopes at faint fuzzy patches. They respond to the sight of a few precious photons with a delight not shared perhaps by the public at large.
As those clear, 7-year-old eyes stared up at me at one of our public programs at Perkins Observatory, I knew I was in trouble. “Why don’t you talk more about aliens?” he said.
I know it’s a little early to anticipate the beginning of spring, but I can’t help myself. This Friday marks the beginning of March, and we have expectations for the month. It comes in like a lion and goes out like a dead lion. No. Wait. That’s not right.
As I searched around in an old box for something else, I came upon a small sculpture of a dung beetle made of clay. My daughter fashioned it a few years back as part of her Humanities class at Columbus Alternative High School. “A waste of precious class time better spent on reading and math,” you say? Just look up at the nighttime sky, and you will see that time spend studying dung beetles is time well spent.
The moon has always had a special place in human imagination. We first imagined it a god. When we finally started seeing it as a place, we have dreamed of going there.
I had a humbling experience at last Friday’s program at Perkins Observatory. As I gave the usual talk, I paused dramatically to begin my “big finish,” and a six-month-old babe in arms named Gabriella began to speak. “Blah, blah, blah, blah,” she babbled cheerfully. The audience erupted with laughter, and so did I.
Orion, the Hunter, dominates our winter nights. In February, you’ll find him almost due south around 8 p.m. His left shoulder is marked by the red supergiant star called Betelgeuse, pronounced “beetle-juice,” a name that means “the armpit of the giant.” So if your loved ones ask you why you’re crazy enough to go outside on these cold winter nights, just tell them you’re going to look at a giant’s armpit. That ought to give them pause.