Wheel of Seasons
by Rick Marsi
Say what you will about wildly warm weather, transforming late autumn to spring.
Call it blissful, a chance to get autumn chores done. Deem it a seasonal stay of execution. Or knit your brow, rant about systems unbalanced. Rail against change in immutable seasonal patterns.
The weather we experienced at the end of November seemed to promise more changes were coming. I kayaked a river in upstate New York and a man kayaked past me barechested. People walked their dogs wearing T-shirts. On days when the average high temperature should have hit 42, it skyrocketed well above 60.
By the time you read this, all of that may have changed. But if it hasn’t — if more warmth should arrive — wander out to admire the night sky. Being able to star watch comfortably during winter is a gift horse. At all costs, do not look in its mouth.
I admit, I did not run outside at 10 p.m., dressed in light clothing, when November’s last days ushered in a week’s worth of warm nights. It took days to expunge ancient ways of perceiving late autumn. After all, those of us possessed of our faculties know one doesn’t watch stars at this time of year unless dressed for Siberian weather.
The third night or so of November’s heat wave, with the woodstove gone cold and a window wide open, old thinking began to give way. I stuck my head out that window and remembered a man named Star Hustler. When I was younger, and stayed up later, he appeared on public television for five minutes, after Charlie Rose’s late night talk show. I think he still does. Nowadays I don’t stay up ’til midnight.
Back then I did, and I really enjoyed the Star Hustler. That’s what the host — a fellow named Jack Horkheimer — called his program. The name seemed to fit, given Jack’s screen persona. Striding jauntily on-screen, atop what looked like a large ring of Saturn, he described star events with the patter of someone who must have done stand-up in Vegas. He was great, I concluded. He inspired me to get out and look up. But in winters of yore, fraught with frost on the window, I withstood his exhortations. One night, however, he got me. He was talking about a rare window of celestial opportunity. If I stood outside between 6 and 8 the following evening, I might gaze up and see The Great Square.
The Great Square. Pegasus. Flying Horse. Mythological wonder. While I watched, the Star Hustler even called
it the gateway to heaven, a portal to other dimensions. That, he declared, was what some ancient people decided this bright square of stars, almost directly overhead in late November and early December, offered
viewers with free open minds. Constricted by a need for more practical footing, I remember feeling more strongly drawn to another of his descriptions of Pegasus. To some folks, he said, it just looks like a mattress up there. Several nights later, I bundled up, went out and looked up. Pegasus was present, but a brilliant full moon quickly sidetracked my will to locate it. What a moon, blinding bright, casting shadows as strong as the sun’s. Forget your moon glow. This was moon glare in spades. Bring on the newspaper. I could have read classified ads.
Fast forward to just several weeks in the past — greenhouse warm for the Thanksgiving weekend. Remembering Star Hustler and that big starry mattress, I went out the night before turkeys got eaten and looked up as straight as I could. A warm hazy sky held no moon to obscure its delights. And there flew that horse, mythological wonder. I said thanks to Star Hustler, checked it out through binoculars, then padded back into the house.
If more climate-change weather should come this December —when nights linger well above freezing — go out and look up. Pegasus will have moved just a bit from dead center, but you’ll still have a good chance of finding the stairway to heaven.
Naturalist Rick Marsi, a member of the Susquehanna Group, is a journalist, public speaker and leader of eco-tours. His book of favorite nature columns is Wheel of Seasons, available at www.rickmarsi.com. ©2011 Rick Marsi