The Wonder Under an Orchard’s Sky
“At some point we just have to take risks. Hopefully it's a clear night. Here we go.”
Text from Jeff Rogers, August 6, just before he clicked “Publish.”
Turns out, it wasn’t.
But it was magical. We ended up having more than 450 people up on the orchard hill at Long View Ciderhouse, spread out on the lawn, under the tent, on the deck, and in Adirondack chairs, all looking up, laughing, talking, and gazing in wonder at the heavens above, peeking out from the increasing clouds. Kids running around in the dark with the kind of excitement you have when you’re eight and outside after bedtime. It’s summertime, and it’s the night of the Perseids.
It was an all-new event for the amazing collaboration between Long View Ciderhouse and Orion Perspectives, but in most other ways what we were doing was ancient. People have noted this incredible annual meteor shower since the year 36 AD. In my opinion, it’s the best one of the year; some of the most vivid meteors of my life have been on these kinds of warm August nights, when a tiny piece of debris 4.5 billion years old meets its fiery demise in dense atmosphere 60 miles above a small, rocky, unremarkable planet orbiting a small, unremarkable star.
It’s magic to see, like rainbows, lightning, an eclipse, and the Aurora Borealis.
We didn’t see many meteors this night. The race between the darkness and the clouds was won by the clouds. But until it was over, crowds of visitors had looked at the Sun and its stormy surface, seen stunningly beautiful Venus in its half phase, and the rich band of stars cutting through Cygnus the Swan. We talked mythology, telescopes, binoculars, science, magic, the insignificance of life on Earth, and how it’s a miracle we were there to see it. Kids got astronaut trading cards, debating which was cooler…the Apollo missions or things like Dragon and Artemis…and adults soon asked for them, too.
The vibe was immaculate. The cider flowed. The wonder and awe was palpable.
It was real. There was no projector, no computer, no screen, no chatbot, no AI slop. Our eyes looked through polished glass, mirrors, and metal, like Galileo’s did, and light that left thousands of years ago entered our eyes and brains and imagination.
At one point, Jeff Rogers and I ran into each other in the dark, and we just smiled.
He had been right. At some point, you just have to take risks that people will want to see what their souls know they long to: the tangible wonders of the universe. Someday, we hope one of those kids changes the world, and it traces back to the wonder of August 12, 2026 at a special spot in Southington, Connecticut.
Photo credits: Leann Siembab Cormier and Long View Ciderhouse
