Star Shower

An early rise to catch the Perseid meteor shower rains in disappointment... and high spirits

In the wee hours before dawn on August 12, astronomers invited Earthbound stargazers to look up to witness the peak event of a celestial show: the Perseid meteor showers. Observers, they promised, could witness as many as a hundred meteors per hour, under ideal conditions.

As someone in awe of such mysteries, I was primed. I’d been visiting the Chautauqua Institution, a Shangri-La on Chautauqua Lake, that comes alive only in summer, but whose global reach in culture, science, religion and the arts attracts hundreds of thousands of visitors from around the planet.

In its mission statement, Chautauqua says, it is “dedicated to the exploration of the best in human values and the enrichment of life.”

Yep, that’s the kind of place it is.

During the season, the Institution takes up a grand theme each week. The Week Eight theme we were preparing to dive into was Water: Crisis, Beauty and Necessity, an exploration in partnership with the National Geographic Society.

Fitting that theme, one of the Institution’s loveliest features is Chautauqua Lake. The waterfront offers sailing, swimming, kayaking, and fishing and a scenic spot for reflection. Lake conservation, safety, sustainability and remediation are top priorities.

Beyond that, we are water. It makes up anywhere from 50-75 percent of the human body, and that our planet’s surface is more than 70 percent covered by water. So it seems like a natural for in-depth exploration.

Falling Waters

I have been coming to Chautauqua for many years: I’ve taught here, studied here, written here, played here, and enjoyed the company of friends, old and new.

The chance for me to visit this Upstate New York community this year came up last minute when friends invited me to use their place while they were away. I jumped at the opportunity.

A week at Chautauqua is always a rich time for rediscovering Nature. In 2022, for the week I was here, the theme was the night sky, also with NatGeo. Chautauqua has made reducing light pollution a priority, retrofitting street lamps to minimize scattered light and conserve energy as part of its Dark Sky Initiative.

And now, a meteor light show over the lake. I read they would be most visible between a midnight moonset and sunrise.

At 4:17 a.m., I blinked myself awake, reluctant to crawl out from under warm blankets. I listened for rain, checked my weather app and stuck my head outside under the tree-covered canopy. Scattered clouds and a cool, damp 58-degrees. All indicators inside and out were a go, even if my achy bones said no.

By now wide awake, I pulled jeans over pajamas, threw on a fleece and grabbed my rain jacket.

Outside, all was darkness save for one streetlamp neared the lake. No other humans out, but a fox—or maybe a raccoon—crossed my path. It was too shadowy under the tree canopy to tell which nocturnal creature’s domain I had stepped over.

In over my head

It can be startling for us urban dwellers to remember that the night ushers us into another world. In the moonless dark, I ventured past slumbering old houses until the paved street ended, and kayaks scattered the grass tucked into woods fronting the lake.

I stepped onto the narrow dock. It was slick from an earlier rain. Despite the PRIVATE warning sign painted on the dock in big red letters, I continued on. A lone sailboat tied up at the end bobbed gently in the current.

Overhead, more and more stars seemed to be blinking into brightness. A promising sign for clear gazing. Here, I could settle into silence.

Except my body and mind refused to settle. The lake lapped loudly beneath my narrow perch, so close I could feel its wash. A fish jumped out and plunked back under. The hoot of an owl filled the air.

My mind teamed with questions. I wondered what other night creatures might lurk in the stillness. Might otters be swimming in the drink? Were there turtles? Do gulls fly at night? I tried to discern where the fish had disappeared into the deep, but whatever ripple it had made was erased by other ripples.

Other phantoms invaded my lonely vigil. Two voices rang out across the current. I could just distinguish their boat’s bobbing red and white orbs out in the lake. I wondered why they were there. Where they were going. What they were talking about.

I kept my eyes on those lights blinking blurrily out of the black, listening until the voices faded away.

Blurry lights on a distant skiff traversing the inky black of Chautauqua Lake at night

You are here for the star shower, I reminded myself. Why was I resisting? All I had to do was look up.

I settled back on the dock. Only a few faded stars winked above me. None falling. Not bright enough to wish on. And more low, thick clouds pulling a blanket over the sky.

I sat up and surveyed the opposite shore. The lake clouds started there, stretching towards me; the watch window was closing.

My stargazing mission felt more and more futile. I fell back again and stared up harder. The faint few stars overhead not falling but flaming out.

I tried to resign myself to the loss. If witnessing this Perseids display was not meant to be, at least I could read up on the myth behind the meteors. Who—or what—were they? I pulled up my Sky Guide app to locate the constellation Perseus, whence those Perseids originate.

Divining Goddess

There is a complicated Greek myth about Perseus, the offspring of Zeus and a mortal woman, Danae. Perseus was a flawed hero who decapitated the Medusa, rescued Andromeda who he would then marry, and saved his mother from the unwanted advances of a foreign king.

The whole affair sounded a little too #MeToo.

The story that resonated more deeply for me told how the constellation came to be associated with the meteors that regularly shower the Earth.

A Titan deity, Asteria, had married Perseus and Andromeda’s son, Perses. Asteria was known as the goddess of the shooting stars, and of nighttime divinations like those discerned in dreams or astrological alignments.

It was said that, when the Titans fell, Zeus chased Asteria, who then took the form of a bird and soared across the sky like a shooting star, then crashed into the Ionian Sea. (Author’s note: “The Palmist,” my short story about Asteria and the Titan goddesses will be appear in Volume V of the Shapers of Worlds science fiction anthology in 2025.)

By rights, we would name this annual meteor shower after Asteria. Sadly, women seldom get the credit they deserve.

I glanced back down the lake towards Chautauqua’s famous bell tower, outlined in twinkling light. And I could see the night sky around the tower was still clear. I should walk down to the bell tower and take in the view from there.

At once, fat raindrops began dotting the waters around me. A mist rose out of the lake. Downpour might start at any moment.

Disappointed, I gathered up my jacket, scrambled to my feet and turned to run back to bed.

I looked to the distant bell tower one last time. Above it, one lone star blazed across the sky and lit up the lake. My moment to make a wish.

Invocation to a Goddess
Asteria, you divine
light out of all things 
Dark and Dreamy. 
Telescope our Hearts 
skyward. Lift us from
Shadow. Rain in Joy 
that we may feel 
our Spirits soar.

I dashed a hand across my eyes. Raindrops were streaming down my face. Or tears. Or perhaps the dying spark of a fallen star.

By then, it didn’t matter. I’d gotten what I came for. And so much more.