Contemplating Uranus

Hubby is an avid amateur astronomer… and an alliterative archetype, apparently.  (Sorry, I couldn’t resist the chance to string together eight A-words without using the word ‘anus’.  We’ll get to that one later.)

Anyhow, Hubby is my go-to guy whenever I spot something in the night sky that intrigues me.  I’m not much of an astronomer – I can spot the Big Dipper and Orion and the North Star, and that’s about it.  So, early in the evening I’d point to a bright dot near the horizon and sing out, “Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight…”

And Hubby would say, “That’s not a star, that’s Venus.”

Oh.

So I learned to say, “Oh, look, there’s Venus!”

Then we got wrapped up in our move, and summer arrived with its long hours of daylight, and we didn’t have much time for stargazing.  But the other night we were sitting beside a little bonfire enjoying a cold beverage and I pointed happily to the bright dot in the southern sky.  “Oh, look, there’s Venus!”

Hubby said, “That’s not Venus, that’s Saturn.”

“Oh.  Where’s Venus?”

“You can’t see it now.  Planets move around, you know.”

“Right, so that explains why you haven’t mentioned Jupiter or Venus lately.  What about Neptune?  And weren’t you talking about seeing Mercury a few years back?”

“Yes, but you can’t see them right now, either.”

Mellowed by beer, my next question slipped out before I even considered it.  “But you never mention Uranus.  Can you ever see Uranus?”  As soon as the words left my mouth, I started to smirk.

In the firelight, Hubby didn’t notice my expression, or maybe he was ignoring it in an attempt to keep the conversation above a third-grade level.  “I saw Uranus the other night,” he replied seriously.

I couldn’t resist a straight line like that.  “Dang, I guess I should have put on some underwear.”

He gave an ‘oh-lord-here-we-go’ eye roll, and I attempted to veer back to the path of maturity by adding, “So what does it look like?  Can you see it with your naked eye?”  (Yes, I said ‘naked’ with a completely straight face.  See, I can act like an adult… for several seconds at a time.)

“No, it’s not very bright.  Even with my telescope, it’s just a fuzzy gray ball.”

I blame the beer.  My moment of maturity vanished without a trace.  “Uranus is gray and fuzzy?  That can’t be healthy.  And you say you can’t see Uranus without a telescope?  How does that even work?  If you have to look in the eyepiece at one end to see your other end, you must be very flexible…”

By this time we were both snickering.

“Yep,” Hubby agreed.  “It’s hard to get a glimpse of Uranus.  I can’t even spot it without help; I have to enter coordinates into my telescope to make it point in the right direction and then I use a computer program to track Uranus…”

“Okay, I’m never gonna turn my back on that telescope again.”

The conversation ended in a blaze of glory… literally.  We spotted a big meteor sailing erratically through the sky shedding sparks, and at that point we lost interest in Uranus… or anyone else’s, for that matter.

But now, inquiring minds want to know:  Have you ever seen Uranus?

Soaring Like An Ego

When I grow up I want to be a bald eagle.

First, they’re the biggest meanest birds in the sky.  Nobody messes with bald eagles.  The babies occasionally get eaten, but the adults have no natural enemies.  (Except humans, but we’re a menace to everything so we don’t really count.)

When the evolutionary goodies were handed out, eagles got flashy plumage, a massive wingspan, a formidable armament of beak and talons, and the ability to soar ‘way up in the sky to look down on all us pathetic earthbound types.  Who, incidentally, all look like dinner to them because they can and will eat just about anything.

You’d think that would be enough perks for one creature; but no.  Humans treat them like nobility, too.  Here on the west coast, landowners have to be aware of Eagle Trees:  any large tree where an eagle might nest.

If you have an Eagle Tree on your property, you aren’t allowed to cut down the tree, and you can’t even disturb the natural vegetation within 60 metres (200 feet) in all directions around it.  That restriction stays in place until no trace of a nest or any possible nesting activity has been seen in the tree for 5 years.

How’s that for a sweet deal?  Imagine flying over any place you’d like to live; choosing the best location for a house, and building there regardless of who currently owns the property.  And then the government makes everyone keep back a respectful distance from your house, even if you haven’t lived there for five years.  I want some of that.

But wait, there’s more.

If you’re an eagle, it’s illegal (see what I did there…?  Okay, sorry…) for people to “possess, take, injure, molest, or destroy” you, your eggs, and/or your nest.  So that crappy nest you built 25 years ago in that tree you haven’t visited in a decade?  It’s still there, just in case you ever want to move back in.  Nobody can knock it down – they can’t even go near the tree.

Better still, even your castoff feathers are venerated.  In the U.S. people can be fined up to $100,000 for possessing eagle feathers they don’t lawfully own.  (In Canada it’s $25,000.)  Since eagles molt and replace their feathers once a year, it sucks to be the person who gets caught with feathers they innocently picked up from the ground; but from the eagle’s perspective, it’s all good.

I’m imagining what it would be like to have people following behind me, carefully preserving my crummy discarded feathers and creating complex laws around them.  After a while my ego would soar like… well, an eagle.

It wasn’t always sunshine and raptors, though:  There’s the small issue of their near-extinction about 40 years ago.  But after battling their way off the Endangered Species List, eagles deserve a bit of adulation.

At least, that’s how I’ll rationalize it when I become an eagle and allow my eagle ego eager egress.  (Okay, you can smack me now; but I just couldn’t resist.)

Bald eagle not amused by my feeble human joke. (Public Domain photo from United States Fish And Wildlife Service.)

Bald eagle not amused by my feeble human joke. (Public Domain photo from United States Fish And Wildlife Service.)