Every now and then, a scene—an observation–brings a big smile to my face. This morning was one of those as I drove through town to meet friends for coffee.
The school bus was coming towards me, and slowing down. I assumed it was going to stop to pick up a student. I slowed also with plenty of clearance to the bus. First the flashers came on, then the red flashers and stop sign extended out from the side. I rolled to a stop and looked for children.
Out of a car parked on the side street stepped a school girl, maybe 7-years old. Maybe 8. She had a pink backpack and was wearing a pink mask. She ran towards the bus, arms waving in the air as if to say “hi” to someone or everyone on the bus. She behaved absolutely joyful to be getting on the bus and seeing friends.
It brought a big smile to my face. The innocence of kids. The joy of seeing friends or going to school. Absolutely magical.
The bus flashing lights turned off. The stop sign rolled back to the side of the bus, and it began to roll. I waved to the bus driver. She waved back.
Screenshot of the ISS Detector app on my smart phone.
The night was perfect. Unusually clear sky. Stars shining brightly at about 9 p.m. The phone app, ISS Detector, had signaled the impending flyover of the International Space Station, and it was going to be almost directly overhead on an arc from horizon to horizon for about five minutes.
I stood in my backyard, phone in hand, watching the image of an approaching Space Station coming closer and closer to my viewing spot. And then, there it was rising above the trees, ascending into better view. It shines because its height above the earth is actually reflecting the sunshine off its surface.
Seven astronauts doing their space thing flying along at about 17,000 miles per hour, with all that technology and science. I am in awe to be able to watch such an event. It gets me every time, and this one was perfect.
About one mile away, workers and volunteers were still setting up for the annual Farm Club Antique Tractor Show. I guess tractors were still arriving and being moved into their places for display even at that hour. I could hear the deep chug of a tractor being moved, the kind of sound that only an antique tractor can make. It’s not a smooth whir of an engine, but a deep, single sound of an engine: chug…chug…chug…chug.
Could this be the tractor I heard? It is an old steam engine tractor, the kind that sounds like what I heard, “chug…chug…chug.”
I listened to this tractor while watching the Space Station fly over, and it was such a contrast in technology. Overhead is this marvel of technology and science flying silently across the sky, and over at the farm, an antique tractor fills the air with its marvelous low-end mechanical sound. Viewing one and hearing the other was an observation in how far we have come as a civilization. It was surreal.
It is fun to watch such an event with others, to talk about that magnificent object flying overhead. We would have talked about the Space Station until it was out of sight. But, I was solo on this night. If there had been others, I might not have heard the antique tractor which made it surreal. Was being alone meant to be? Fate? Karma? Synchronicity? Perhaps.
I can’t wait until the next time the Space Station flies over.
For some strange reason, I awoke this morning dreaming of my 2012 ride on the Oregon Trail. It was a 6,000-mile, 21 day adventure. But, why this morning? Maybe I’m just dreaming of another motorcycle adventure.
Chimney Rock in Nebraska, a landmark for travelers on the Oregon Trail.
D. Brent Miller 