The 2024 full solar eclipse, which cut a diagonal swath across the U.S. from southwest to northeast, has come and gone. For many, the weather made it a bit of a bust. Others, like me, were luckier.
Sort of.
I began my serious eclipse planning nearly a year ago, scouring the internet for a place to stay for a couple of nights. I rejected hotels and kept looking until I found a gorgeous-looking property in northern New Hampshire with lots of deck space, overlooking a pond, apparently with lots of open sky where the moon and sun could do their dance as my husband and I watched. It was a big place—five bedrooms—so we invited another couple, K&J, and a single friend, B, and they accepted enthusiastically.
As the date approached, I busied myself finalizing arrangements. It would likely be cold there in April, so warm clothing was a must. I arranged for a cat sitter. Stories began to surface about how the rural areas of northern New England were panicked about accommodating the expected hoards, so I communicated with my friends about who would bring what foods for us to make in the huge kitchen; driving anywhere once we were ensconced seemed ill-advised.
Finally, it was April 7, when we would drive north for hours, with the eclipse promised for the next day. The car was packed chock full of stuff we might not need, but—you never know. Our single friend, B, would meet us there. I got a text from K&J that they were leaving later than they’d hoped, but they’d be there for a late dinner.
Hubby and I were the first to arrive. It was gorgeous! The place inside was almost as glorious as the photos had led me to believe, and there was a great spot on the deck where we could view the event comfortably. Even the weather was cooperating, with fair skies predicted!
B arrived safely, and she ooh-ed and ah-ed appropriately. Then things started to darken, and not in a good way.
First, we couldn’t figure out why the heat wasn’t coming on. It was set at 56 degrees when we arrived, and nothing we could do convinced it to increase. I called the management agency, and someone showed up very quickly.
While he worked on the furnace, we set out cheeses, tapenade, crackers, tortilla chips, salsa, and wine. I got started with dinner. I set the oven to pre-heat as I started on the chopping and cutting and other prep, while hubby looked into setting up the wood stove, for which we had ordered two bundles of wood. But then B, reading the property manual, saw a hand-written note on pink sticky paper that said “The wood stove is not usable at this time.”
So much for any heat from that. And ordering the wood proved a waste.
Then the maintenance fellow reappeared and declared his efforts to be unsuccessful. So he called in a furnace specialist.
It was about this time that the oven beeped to let me know it had reached the set temperature. I opened the oven door and was nearly knocked over by the thick, rancid smoke that billowed out.
Several open windows and a couple of open doors later, and the inside air was breathable, though smoke still hung about. So much for dinner.
It was about this time that the furnace repairman showed up. Within minutes, he reported that the furnace couldn’t be fixed without a part he couldn’t get that day.
Another call to the management agent yielded the option for them to bring in lots of space heaters (which we nixed without even thinking about it) or moving to another unit, provided he could locate one that met our needs.
While he did his research, we got a text from our friends K&J, still on the road, but very near. I had them wait where they were until we knew where we were going.
Around 7:30, the agency came up with what looked like a very nice substitute, so we grabbed it and texted the address to our friends. B, hubby, and I and hurriedly packed up. Sounds simple, but consider that I had already emptied my luggage, and that the kitchen was littered with dinner prep, dishes with appetizers, dirty bowls and utensils, and half-empty wine glasses.
Somehow we made it out without (I think) leaving anything behind. But night was approaching, and B can’t see well enough in the dark to drive.
“Do you want me to drive you?” I asked.
“No, I think I’ll be fine. If I get lost, I’ll text.”
So hubby and I left. Mistake.
The new place, half an hour away, was in a complex of ski lodges, and after several wrong turns in the near-dark, hubby and I finally found it. The place was gorgeous! It was even better than the other place, which had seemed really nice. K&J arrived very soon after, and we all extolled the virtues of our new location (though they hadn’t seen the first one).
But I wasn’t able to relax. B hadn’t arrived, and it was getting quite dark. I tried texting her. I tried calling. No response.
As I did my best to reconstruct the dinner we hadn’t cooked at the first place, everyone was enjoying the luxurious surroundings but me; I was worried about B and regretting that I hadn’t insisted on driving her car. Now, even if I set out to look for her in dark and unfamiliar territory, I despaired of finding her.
My worry increased over the course of an hour before I finally got a phone call through to her. It took several minutes and the input of everyone with me to understand where B had ended up, and I still don’t know how she got there. Cell reception is notoriously bad in the mountains, which is why I hadn’t been able to reach her; clearly some vagary of the environment occurred to let that one signal through.
Hubby and I drove our car to her, he drove back alone, and I followed, driving B’s car. Dinner that night was pretty much of a wreck. Thank heaven for the ginger cookies I had made!
We did see the eclipse the next day, though I have to say that it was almost anti-climactic, after the adventures of the dead furnace, the injured wood stove, the haunted oven, the movable feast, and the dear friend nearly lost forever.
Thank goodness there won’t be another total eclipse of the sun in the U.S. for many years. I don’t think I could stand the strain.
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I’m an inveterate observer of human nature, writing novels about all kinds of people, some of whom happen to be gay or transgender or bisexual or intersex—people whose destinies are not determined solely by their sexual orientation or gender identity. Check out my work on my website.
I enjoyed reading this! Murphy's Law?