Planning is far too strong a word to describe what I have been doing since August 21, 2017, but I have certainly been looking forward to last Monday’s big event since that date. That date is, of course, when I experienced my first-ever total solar eclipse near Hopkinsville, Kentucky. Near the end of my post on that experience, I mentioned a couple of future eclipses and noted that there was “a decent chance I’ll be around in 2024”. I made it.
This time there was no need to leave the state or deal with unfamiliar territory to see the eclipse. 99.822% obscuration was available just outside my door and nearly four minutes of 100% obscuration less than a hundred miles north in the county of my birth. There were plenty of events large and small planned along the entire path of the eclipse but the events planned for the only Darke County in the nation may have had the best and most natural name.
I would be viewing the eclipse from my friend Terry’s backyard just a few miles from Greenville, the county seat. I headed north pretty early in case the predicted heavy traffic actually materialized and started causing problems. I did not see much traffic but I did see evidence that it was expected. For days media of all sorts had been sharing precautions such as gassing up before heading into the anticipated congestion of the eclipse path.
With time to spare, Terry and I headed into town to see what we could see. Some organized events had taken place over the weekend and more were planned for Monday afternoon but it was way too early for those and there was not a carnival-like atmosphere such as I had seen in Hopkinsville in 2017. That doesn’t mean that eclipse chasers were not in town and beginning to stake out their spots. The biggest gathering of visitors was at the fairgrounds where rows of trailers and RVs belonging to members of the Wally Byam Caravan Club were parked beyond the view of my camera. Attendants guarded all the fairground entrances as well as some other open areas around town with PARKING $15 signs posted.
After cruising the town (which we did in abundance during our high school days) we returned to our viewing area to await the eclipse. A week ago, rain was predicted for the day. Then the prediction was mostly cloudy then partially cloudy. Eclipse day started out sunny but there were still clouds around and a partially obscured 100% obscuration remained a possibility. That did not happen and Terry, his wife Sue, and I were treated to an incredible show.
In 2017 I wrote that it was “kind of ridiculous for me to even try photographing the eclipse” because of the many experts who were capturing and sharing photographs. I did it anyway and I did it again this year. I watched a video and did some reading about photographing the eclipse yet managed to take even worse photos in 2024 than in 2017. But I did not let it interfere with enjoying the eclipse and I am very much enjoying the marvelous photos the pros and near-pros have been sharing.
The length of totality I experienced in 2024 was nearly 50% higher than that of 2017 (159.7 vs. 235.4 seconds). The awe I felt may have been slightly different because I now had somewhat of an idea of what to expect, but it was in no way diminished. I believe that’s Venus visible to the right of the sun but I’m not certain. I also took a picture of a planet visible during totality in 2017 but I did not post it. Here it is. There was also an unused photo of the horizon taken during totality in 2017 but it is not nearly as interesting as the light on the clouds in 2024.
I headed home after a couple of hours and some pizza and didn’t initially find it too crowded. However, a few miles south of Dayton traffic on I-75 began to back up and I slipped off onto OH-741. I don’t know if that was a brief or long-term backup or what the cause was in either case. Traffic was flowing normally on OH-741, I easily reached home, and have my dark glasses tucked away until August 12, 2045.
Like pictures? It’s got ’em. Like variety? Got that too. There are enough pictures to fill a deck of cards or a weekly calendar, which is not accidental. The premise for the book was writing an article to accompany a photograph every week for a year. That could very well be a student assignment in an overly long writing course and in a sense it is. Jim Grey assigned himself the exercise to, as he says, “strengthen this muscle”. He is referring to the writing muscle which can surely benefit from practice just as much as a musician’s skill or an athlete’s strength.
Even though photographs are at the heart of Under the Catalpa Tree, the book’s subtitle mentions only “stories and essays”. I’m guessing that is at least partially because only the stories and essays needed to be newly created for the book. The photos already existed from Grey’s many years of photographing the world around him. He doesn’t explain how the photos were selected. I am sure it was not completely random but there is tremendous variety. They range in quality from slightly fuzzy black-and-white snapshots taken years ago with a yardsale camera to crisp color images taken with high-end gear and well-developed skills. Some photos are digital but film is the source of many of the images since Grey collects — and heavily uses — film cameras. Among the subjects are family, friends, cars, houses, nature, and an abbey in Ireland.
A detail I appreciate is laying out the book so that all images are alone on a left-hand page. That happens naturally when the text occupies a single page, which is common, or three pages, which is not. There are quite a few two-page essays where a blank is used to get things back in synch. Totally worth it, in my opinion. Those pages, by the way, utilize Amazon’s premium paper which has the photos looking their best.
It’s a simple concept. Position yourself at the southernmost point in the continental United States then drive to the northernmost point in the U.S. accessible by road. The former is Key West, Florida. Deadhorse, Alaska, is the latter. The two are separated by a little over 4,000 miles as an extremely hardy all-weather crow might fly. Limited to traveling on the earth’s surface, Tom Cotter and Michael Alan Ross clocked 8,881 miles in making the connection. The difference is easily justified. Tom and Michael had more fun than any crow could even dream of.
That camper was a new Basecamp 16X on loan from Airstream. The tow vehicle was a 2021 Bronco Outer Banks on loan from Ford. As Cotter tells it, he got the Bronco by telling Ford that Airstream had promised him a camper and he got the camper by telling Airstream that Ford had promised a Bronco.
They clipped a corner of Georgia, then crossed Alabama (with a stop in Muscle Shoals) before turning north in Louisiana to reach Tennessee. They entered Missouri via the bootheel and maintained a west-by-northwest course through that state and Kansas with appropriate adjustments to take in the big ball of twine in Cawker City. Then it was a little more directly north through Nebraska and the Dakotas with a Memorial Day pause at the Black Hills National Cemetery in South Dakota. There was a different sort of pause at the North Dakota line. Despite all of Cotter’s past travels, he had, at this point, visited just forty-nine states. North Dakota was number fifty.
North of Bismarck, Cotter and MAR picked up US 2 and headed west. That might not be the most direct route to Alaska but there were friends near Seattle and, as any good road-tripper knows, anything can be “on the way” if you look at it just right. Hitting Glacier National Park and the Going-to-the-Sun Road might have also been a factor in route selection but the scenic road was not yet open for the summer when they arrived. There was, of course, plenty of great scenery even without Going-to-the-Sun, and plenty of interesting people, too. 
With the break out of the way, it was time to enter Canada and head for the beginning of the Alaska Highway in Dawson Creek, British Columbia. Cotter had a recent (but not quite current) edition of The Milepost with him. The Milepost is published annually and is close to indispensable for anyone traveling the Alaska Highway. That road is its primary focus and its initial reason for being but it now not only covers the Alaska Highway but just about every path for getting to and from it. That includes coming from Vancouver which is what Cotter and MAR were doing.
British Columbia and the Yukon Territory contain the bulk of the Alaska Highway with only the northernmost two hundred miles or so being in Alaska. Cotter reports that any pride associated with returning to the U.S. was short-lived and declares this “absolutely the worst roads” they had driven so far. The Alaska Highway officially ends at Delta Junction but Fairbanks is easily reached on what is sometimes seen as an extension, the Richardson Highway.
The Airstream was left with a cousin while Cotter and MAR tackled the final stretch to Deadhorse in the Bronco. Several aspects of this trip reminded me of my own 2016 drive to Alaska but perhaps none so much as the mention of “a mandatory pit stop at the Hilltop Restaurant north of Fairbanks”. Even though I did not drive north of Fairbanks on my own but used a commercial tour company to visit the Arctic Circle, we had breakfast at the Hilltop before hitting the Dalton Highway.
My visit to the Arctic Circle had been a one-day there-and-back affair. Cotter and Mar spent a night on the Dalton Highway in Wiseman and two nights at the end of the road in Deadhorse. Just reaching the end of the road would be enough for most people but Cotter went above and beyond by joining the Arctic Polar Bear Club with a dip in the 40°F Prudhoe Bay to bookend his dip in the “warmer than my morning shower” water at the start of the trip in Key West.
