By Eilene Lyon
I adore the Don McLean song of that name, and the Van Gogh painting that inspired it. Most of all, I love the starry night itself – the one I’m privileged to enjoy just by walking out my bedroom door at night.
I live in what you would classify as a “dark-sky” zone. None of my neighbors shine outdoor lights at night. Once everyone has gone to bed, the only electric lights visible from my home are across the valley at the gas compressor station. I wish everyone had this view from their home.
Image from NASA, showing my dark part of the country
On a night when the moon has yet to rise, the Milky Way spills across the sky, a misty path to the secret depths of the universe.
Our ancestors knew the stars like a road map, the same way we now navigate by gas stations, freeway exits, and Subway sandwich shops. Whether at sea or on land, they could find their way at night by looking to the heavens.
I was taught the importance of the North Star for navigation – it was true north, and the brightest star in the sky. That is a lie – the bright part.
As I stood on my deck last night, Orion beamed at me from the southwest, like Donald Trump on Fox News. Cassiopeia was prominent to the northwest. Due west, Venus glowed like a neon sign. Above it, the Pleiades ladies were a faint, but visible cluster.
North, and nearly overhead, the Big Dipper, aka Ursa Major, was as prominent as the black bear that tore our front porch rail off to get at our hummingbird feeder (couldn’t he have just come up the stairs?!).
But the North Star, the Little Dipper, are barely discernable, even in this dark place. What are we supposed to see? How could someone have picked this faint light out from all the others to be a guide? How did someone see something so special that no else noticed before?
Feature image: by Calwaen Liew on Unsplash
Myricopia 
I took astronomy in college, but have never been able to see anything more than Orion in the sky. I mean I see the moon, and I know that there are stars up there, but the patterns of the constellations escape me. I can, however, navigating my way around my world via Subways and Krogers, so I’m better suited for these times.
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LOL. Yes it sounds like you are. Maybe your skies aren’t dark enough?
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That could very well be. I never thought of that. Interesting.
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I don’t know any constellations other than the ones I mentioned above. I’d probably get lost at night, too.
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Oh how fortunate to live in a dark zone! I love to gaze at the night sky unimpeded from light pollution and how wonderful it would be to have access whenever you choose, or the skies cooperate! I live one and half hours from Grasslands National Park which is a dark sky preserve, so I guess I can’t complain too loudly.
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It’s good you have such a nice place nearby. I suppose I am spoiled, but then I feel guilty when I don’t go outside at night.
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That is a great song and a favorite painting. My daughter does some takes in that painting. Love it.
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I used to live in a city and, in adult life, could only rarely see stars at night, though as a child they were easier to see. When I first moved to rural Wales, I was astonished at how clear the skies were – and still are. We have solar lighting in our garden, but only little patches here and there, and we’re surrounded by fields, pastures and forest, so there’s very little in the way of human lighting to mar it.
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Sounds lovely!
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