 |
 A
freshman student that visited my observatory wrote the following
for his first composition paper, "Not far from here,
just a few country miles south, there is a place where the
stars are brought just a little closer to earth. It is called
the Grems-Timmons Observatory. Not many people have seen it.
It isn't on any map, but for those who are invited and
take the time to appreciate it, it is a wonder.
From
the outside, it appears to be little more than a small, simple
shack. The walls are white with red trim, resembling a lunch
stand from a county fair. The shingled roof is divided; one
side peaked while the other is flat. Two manila ropes hang
from one end like two massive pig-tails, smooth from age and
use. Small windows, like eyes, peek from the front and the
sides. They are dark and shuttered, looking more like vents
than portals of sight. The scent of the country flows with
the wind along the walls. Crickets can be heard chirping from
just out of sight. The stars stretch overhead on their apparent
journey from horizon to horizon.
Inside,
the control room, two monitors cut through the wash of red
light like torches. Star maps and control windows stretch
from one to the other. On one shelf, cans of bug spray sit
like sentinels against unwanted intruders. The evidence of
their use lingers in the dry air of the room. The hum of computers
drones from beneath a wall-mounted desktop. Two chairs are
set askew in the middle of the room, still warm from recent
use. From behind a door, the whine of servos can be heard
coming from the next room. Here is where the telescope stands,
cold and clean from constant care. It pivots like a ballerina,
constantly adjusting to stay on track. Dust surrounds it but
does not come too close. The roof of this room has been retracted,
exposing the room to the sky. Stars twinkle from inconceivable
distances, appearing as they were when our world was still
new and the Aztecs and Egyptians cast their view aloft.
In
the control room, the astronomer waits. A blue progress bar
creeps across the screen, each minute showing a new image.
The air is cooler now, the smell not so readily apparent.
Outside, some stars pass out of sight as we turn to face still
more in our cycle. The grass is wet and smells of dew. The
night is creeping into morning and still the watcher waits."
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