Astronomer’s Christmas
By Jane Jones (from an amateur astronomy newsgroup)
Modified slightly by Me :-)
Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the city,
Not a planet was shining, now isn’t that a pity.
The telescope was stored in the garage with despair,
In hopes that the weather would soon turn to fair.
The astronomers were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of nebulae danced in their heads.
And Mojo with his laptop and I with my starmap,
Had just settled down for a cloudy night nap.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew with a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon shone brightly, no clouds hid the glow,
The full moonlit lustre to objects below.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But Pleiades, Orion, and Ursa Major, the bear.
With our trusty old telescope, the setup was quick,
I knew in a moment we had objects to pick.
More rapid than eagles, the targets they came,
We aimed and we pointed and called them by name.
"Now, Procyon, now Pollux, now Castor and Capella! On Aldebaran, on Rigel, on Sirius, and Betelgeuse, the red fella :-)
To the top and around the winter circle of stars,
Now a quick look at Saturn, Jupiter, Venus and Mars.
As fireflies that before the dawns morning light,
Brilliantly flicker and soon are a memory bright,
A new wonder would paint the dark sky to pale blue,
The sunrise was nearing and morning twilight was too.
And then in a twinkling, I heard on the roof,
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I stepped from the telescope and was turning around,
Down the chimney the stranger came with a bound.
He looked like an astronomer, bundled from head to his foot,
Like a stargazer his clothes were tarnished with ashes and soot.
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
Looked just like our telescope accessory pack.
His eyes — how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry
He looked like we do after a cold winter starshow
Freezing but happy from the Milky Way glow
The stump of a flashlight held tight in his teeth
Its soft red glow encircled his head like a wreath
We asked him if he’d ever looked closely at Mars
"I’m working at night, I have no time for the stars".
He stepped up to the eyepiece, a right jolly old elf,
And I smiled as he gasped, in spite of myself.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, but took in view after view,
Then he spoke with a sigh he had more work to do.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
Happy stargazing to all and to all a dark night.
Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year from nightShifted Astronomy! Clear Skies!
A long time ago in galaxy far, far away…I hated the winter. The cold temperatures and biting winds were enough to keep me depressed for six straight months. I was going to write about how I missed the turning of the leaves, but I remembered that I have spent the last nine years of my life living in New Mexico and Texas where there are very few trees and no change in their appearance for the cold season. A man can go crazy living in an environment like that! I would wake up one morning and the trees would be bare! It was as if those monsters from Stephen King’s The Langoliers had descended on our little Texas town and devoured all of the leaves during the night. This was all before I fell in love with astronomy and began taking my telescope outside on a regular basis. It seems, as I recall, that my obsession with astronomy began during the winter months. I remember a distinct, stinging sensation in my hands as I tried to set up my cheapo 3” Newtonian Reflector telescope outside my apartment in New Mexico in 12 degrees F with a 10mph wind in my face. That pain, as almost any amateur astronomer will tell you, is well worth the crystal clear views that you can get from your telescope during the winter months. I spoke a little about the virtues of winter observation to the Clovis News Journal a few years ago during the Clovis Astronomy Club’s annual Astronomy Day at the Library outreach event. It was true in New Mexico and it is true today in Dayton. Winter is also great because, in my opinion, some of the most beautiful night sky targets are prominent in the early evening during the winter months: 1) Orion, including The Great Nebula and The Horse Head Nebula, 2) Lyra, featuring Vega and The Ring Nebula, 3) Cassiopeia with her double star cluster, and 4) Andromeda, with its crown jewel The Great Galaxy in Andromeda. Many of those targets stay up for the entire year, but you have to be willing to up late or get up early to see them.
Following the winter romance with my first reflector telescope, I was excited about the prospect of going outside and using it without a scarf, jacket, gloves, and a campfire. Unfortunately, I found that summer sessions can be, at times, more annoying than a winter session. There is a significant amount of heat that rises from the Earth’s surface during the spring and summer months. The same phenomenon that causes visual distortions on hot highways (i.e. the water mirage) can wreak havoc with an observation session. Heat rising into the atmosphere can cause noticeable distortions and make it very difficult or impossible to collimate scopes or bring some targets into focus. Depressed yet? That is just the beginning! There is another menace that can turn your session into a fight for survival: mosquitoes. I am firm believer that they are the hell-spawn reincarnations of those crusty, pissed-off amateur astronomers that huddle in their own corners at star parties and refuse to share their knowledge with anyone else. They will descend upon your observing session without mercy; they take no prisoners, and they do not care about your citronella candle. Those first few sessions were quite a battle, and it left me with many war wounds before I was smart enough to bring candles and plenty of bug spray. Somehow I wish that I had read a book before just diving into this hobby all those years ago. Not too long ago, a friend named Jeff Barton at Comanche Springs Observatory showed me a mosquito-repellant polo shirt that kept him from having to douse himself in bug spray every thirty minutes. It was pretty cool, but it can cost as much as an intermediate telescope like my 3” refractor (around $400).
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