During the early dawn hours, students gather at the Campus Observatory to load up cars and a rental truck with telescopes and other equipment before carpooling for the seventy-mile trip to Martinsville, Ill.
MARTINSVILLE, Ill. — Crowds of people bustle about at the Martinsville Agricultural Fairgrounds on a Monday afternoon with their eyes on the sky. The air ripples with excitement as we eagerly await our chance to witness the moon consuming the sun — a total solar eclipse!
I am one of many students representing the University of Illinois Astronomical Society and the Outdoor Adventure Club. Our Great American Eclipse event has us positioned well within the path of totality, a swath of Earth’s surface where the moon completely obscures the sun. Hundreds of ecstatic public spectators have gathered, children yelping excitedly at the telescopes and space demonstrations we’ve set up.
Marbles spinning across a piece of fabric allow people to visualize the forces of gravity, space and the time continuum.
At one of our exhibits, a family is transfixed by a display of marbles pressing down on cloth. The young daughter, tinkering with clunky eclipse glasses, listens intently to my explanation about how the planets are like these marbles, and smaller planets like the Earth roll towards bigger ones like the sun. It’s a lesson in gravity and how mass “presses down” on the space-time fabric of this universe.
“Is that Pac-Man?” the girl asks, looking beyond me to the sky. The moon is stealing the slightest piece of our sun, such that it does resemble the beloved video game icon.
A composite image shows an arc of the sun and the moon phases of the 2024 Great American Eclipse. Even though it is about 400 times bigger than the moon, the sun is about 400 times farther away, making the two appear equal in size as they pass by each other in the sky, causing a total solar eclipse.
Mihika Dutt peers into a reflecting telescope, one of many set up by the students for public demonstrations. This type of telescope allows safe viewing of the direct rays of the sun.
First contact. There’s an almost audible whoosh when all our heads swivel as one, holding our glasses over our eyes to see what the girl has pointed out. A poetic moment — during the total solar eclipse of 1919, Sir Arthur Eddington observed how starlight bends around the sun, reinforcing Einstein’s theories of the very space-time fabric I was just describing. Particles of light were like little marbles swirling around the massive star!
The moon begins on its warpath. We gawk as the sun, which lights up our every day, seems to be sheared by the moon. The hour that follows is surreal. We are lucky enough to know about this occurrence, but our ancestors simply watched in horror as the moon devoured the sun. Indeed, they left us wondrous tales of a “sun-eating dragon” that caused an eclipse when angered.
Sharika Majeti, center, joins other Illini students as they take in the splendor of totality during which the temperature drops dramatically, the sky darkens and the light changes to a greenish yellow hue.
A single musical peal pierces the tension, and I exchange a smirk with a friend who just hit our metal drum. After all, the ancients played such drums to scare away the fabled dragon.
Jubilantly calling out on his megaphone the progress of the solar eclipse, Aarya Mehta, center, keeps everyone focused on the sky.
“Ninety percent coverage now,” I bellow through the megaphone after a quick glance through a telescope, hardly able to contain the giddiness in my voice. All human conversation dissolves into enthused hand-waving and gasps of childlike awe. “Thirty seconds to go! Look out for the fireworks,” I yell.
Several Illinois students craft dandelion headbands as they gather in an open field at the Martinsville Agricultural Fairgrounds while waiting to witness a total solar eclipse.
It looks as if the sky is having a teary-eyed yawn, as beads of light dance along the moon’s edge. These are Baily’s beads — sunlight sieving through the moon’s craters and mountains. They grow more and more frantic before coalescing into one massive radiant plume that is known as the diamond ring effect. Only a shard of sun and its fiery corona now emblazon the skies. I steal a glance at my surroundings and watch shadows flit across my friends’ faces.
Totality.
Jon Hanson of Mahomet came fully prepared for the eclipse with his own eclipse helmet, complete with all manner of retro-electronic sensing equipment, including a can of Spam. Jon, a retired Illinois professor, said he and his wife decided to go to the same location as the Illini Astronomical Society for the day because they figured they would know the best spot.
The air stills. I hold my breath as darkness sweeps across the field, and the stars blink into view. For a split second, there is complete silence. We are adrift in the infinities of the cosmos, and here is the ultimate proof. I blink, but the sun remains dark, as if its eye is still closed. The crowd absolutely erupts, with roars of disbelief ricocheting through us all. I’m tackled with the hugs of my lovely friends, and we do a little happy dance under the daytime stars.
Eryn Van Wijk, a member of the University of Illinois Astronomical Society, takes in the stages of the solar eclipse as shadows of the eclipse are cast across her body by a pegboard.
For two minutes and 19 seconds, no force in the observable universe can wipe the smiles off our faces.
In a shared moment of jubilation, members of the University of Illinois Astronomical Society and the Outdoor Adventure Club celebrate the historical event after they witnessed totality in person
Editor’s note:
Aarya Mehta serves as the vice president of the U. of I. Astronomical Society, which hosts viewing events throughout the year at the campus observatory. For more information, visit https://uias.astro.illinois.edu.
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