I am a high school science teacher, National Geographic Grosvenor's Fellow and a nature columnist. This blog highlights nature columns that appear weekly in local seacoast New England Newspapers
"The best thing one can do when it is raining is to let it rain" - Longfellow
The constellation Orion the Hunter photo by Sue Pike
by Sue Pike email@example.com published Feb 7 2017
Of the many magical encounters my students and I had on our recent trip to the Cape Eleuthera Institute in the Bahamas, one of the best was a night hike in search of the remnants of a long-abandoned resort at the end of the island. We stopped in
the middle of an old road and lay down to look at the stars and listen to the frogs and insects and nocturnal bird noises coming from the surrounding forest. There is almost no light pollution there, the night sky was twinkling with more stars than I have ever seen. We looked for constellations and talked about the myths behind them. I loved this. I grew up with a dad who was a physicist and amateur astronomer. We used to go camping out in remote New Hampshire (we lived in suburban New York where the sky glow from city lights drowned out the night sky) in the fall. We didn't use tents, just lay among the roots of an old tree where we could see the night sky through the leafless branches. I would fall asleep listening to my father tell stories about the stars.
As an optical physicist, my dad also knew all about the light energy emitted by stars, the various intensities and colors and what they meant. I remember he loved talking about Betelgeuse, a red supergiant star. Betelgeuse is currently shedding much of its mass into space - the physics behind how it is doing this is currently a hot topic because the gas shed by Betelgeuse is much cooler than expected and no one can explain exactly why. Betelgeuse is in its death throes; according to astronomer Larry Sessions (earthsky.org). "Someday soon (astronomically speaking), it will run out of fuel, collapse under its own weight, and then rebound in a spectacular supernova explosion. When this happens, Betelgeuse will brighten enormously for a few weeks or months, perhaps as bright as the full moon and visible in broad daylight." Someday soon is on the order of hundreds of thousands of years, so chances are we won't live to see this happen.
Betelgeuse is part of my favorite constellation, Orion the Hunter, probably the most recognizable cluster of stars in the winter sky. To find Orion look for his belt, three bright stars in a straight line. A sword hangs down from his belt. The central star of the sword is the Great Orion Nebula: a stellar nursery where new stars are being born and one of the most studied regions in all of space. Orion's belt lies between two of the brightest stars in the night sky - Betelgeuse defines his right shoulder and Rigel his left knee. Less bright are a club he holds in his upraised right hand and a shield (or in some versions a lion skin - I think it looks more like a shield) in his left. I don't think I've ever seen the club, but the shield was obvious down in dark of the Bahamas - I'm excited to look for it next time I am in a similarly remote place.
Every culture whose people could see the constellation we call Orion has a name and a myth for this distinctive cluster of stars. I grew up with the story of Orion as told by Bulfinch's Mythology: The Age of Fable. In this version Orion was the son of Neptune. He was a great hunter, a favorite of Diana (aka Artemis the goddess of the hunt and the moon, sister to Apollo). Apollo was jealous of their closeness. "One day, observing Orion wading through the sea with his head just above the water, Apollo pointed it out to his sister and maintained that she could not hit that black thing on the sea. The archer-goddess discharged a shaft with fatal aim. The waves rolled the dead body of Orion to the land, and bewailing her fatal error with many tears, Diana placed him among the stars, where he appears as a giant, with a girdle, sword, lion's skin and club. Sirius, his dog, follows him, and the Pleiads fly before him."
There are a number of versions of Greek and Roman myths explaining how exactly Orion made it into the night sky. In one Scorpio the scorpion is chasing him through the heavens. In another he is there in punishment for the wanton killing of animals. However he got there, every fall, when Orion begins to appear over the horizon I feel like I am greeting an old friend.
Popular posts from this blog
Nature News: Blue jays are an oak's best friendWhen I mentioned to a friend that I was writing about blue jays, she told me that for the longest time she had a negative opinion of them. She equated blue jays with pigeons and starlings - pesky, noisy, messy eaters, bullies at bird feeders. However, after moving away from New England, she found she missed them - their uncommon good looks, their role as sentinels of the forest and the birdfeeder, their inquisitive natures.
Blue jays are corvids, close cousins of the crows, ravens and magpies. Like crows, they are known for their intelligence and while they've never been observed using tools in the wild, according to the Cornell Lab of Ornithology, captive blue jays have used newspaper strips to rake food pellets into cages.
I've been watching jays come to my feeder and fly away with the acorns that I collected earlier this fall. I knew that jays love acorns and consume (and stash) an inordinate amount of acorns in the wild. B…
Has this sea jelly made you nervous about swimming?.... Fear not!
published August 13 2016 in the York Weekly/Portsmouth Herald/Foster's Daily Democrat
I was out on the beach at Plum Island a week ago and found a weird jelly-mass washed up in the sand. At first glance squid eggs came to mind, but that seemed somehow far-fetched, so my beach-combing friend and I decided it was a dead jellyfish. This thing was huge — over a foot in diameter, and did look like some sort of upside down jellyfish with short, fat tentacles. We were worried about getting stung so, unfortunately, didn’t prod it or try to turn it over. I snapped some close-ups of its “tentacles” and we left it. It bugged me though. I wanted to know what it was, so I looked through photos of possible jellyfish found in the Gulf of Maine. I couldn’t find a likely candidate so broadened my search to include squid eggs and found a match. This killed me — we could have picked it up, we could have tried to save the…