Total Eclipse of the Heartland
To Missouri and back again — my week in review
Early Saturday evening, my husband and I loaded our dog and more camping gear than is probably appropriate for a three-day road trip and headed west from our small North Carolina hometown.
We (mostly) ignored the wild conspiracy theories flying across the internet, including the bizarre predictions that the eclipse would cause an extensive power grid collapse, herald martial law, and possibly even wake sleeping giants in Utah.
We packed some extra camp food, filled up our gas tank, and made sure our phones had a full charge before heading into the path of totality. As they say, “Luck favors the prepared.” I figured a few extra cans of beanie weenies would come in handy if we did have to fight off lumbering behemoths on our way back home.
We rolled into Castor River Ranch Campground just outside Marquand, Missouri (population 203) at around 2:30 Sunday afternoon. After spending 19 hours in a vehicle (several of those were spent parked at a truck stop in a vain attempt to grab a few hours of sleep), we pitched a tent and fried some hamburgers on the Coleman stove.
Marquand is gorgeous. Nestled in the foothills of the Ozark Mountains, the town is surrounded by the Mark Twain National Forest on three sides. We spent our downtime hiking some backroads and old trails, wading in the (frigid) river, and sifting through river gravel to find geodes and water-tumbled crystals.
But the eclipse…
I am still having trouble putting the experience into words. While the 90% solar eclipse we experienced in eastern NC in 2017 was interesting, it wasn’t all that impressive.
But the four minutes of totality I experienced in Missouri was absolutely soul-shaking.
I couldn’t tell you exactly why it was so moving, but when the world went dark, the entire campground let out a collective gasp. I ditched the eclipse glasses and looked up at the sun with my own eyes. The corona and chromosphere were dazzling, flanked by Jupiter and Venus, and the horizon glowed pink like the light before sunrise, except it wrapped the sky like a scarf. Some purple martins zipped and weaved back and forth overhead as the air temperature dropped several degrees in just a handful of seconds.
I fought back tears.
I’m not a religious person by any means, but it was a profoundly spiritual moment for me.
Was it worth 29 total hours in a car for four minutes of spectacular?
Absolutely! (Although Penny might disagree.)
I’m already trying to figure out how to get to Iceland in 2026.
In the meantime, I’m trying to cultivate a deeper appreciation of the wonders I often overlook in the mundane. That gorgeous sun rises and sets each and every day, and those ordinary, comfortable, day-to-day miracles are just as spectacular.
Where You Can Find Me This Week
While I spent most of my week traveling to and from America’s Heartland, my writing was also featured in these fine publications:
Kinute
The Future is Now: Anglers and AI Team Up For Research and Conservation — Artificial Intelligence isn’t all scary apocalyptic robots. It also works for good. Find out how AI is revolutionizing conservation and angling culture, one spot at a time.
Field & Stream
The Best Turkey Broadheads of 2024, According to Experts—Can you kill turkeys with your favorite deer-hunting set-up? Absolutely. But just because you can doesn’t mean you should. Turkey hunting really does require a special type of broadhead.
Quotes That Made Me Go Hmmm
"For human nature is so made that only what is unusual and infrequent excites wonder or is regarded as of value. We make no wonder of the rising and the setting of the sun which we see every day; and yet there is nothing in the universe more beautiful, or worthy of wonder. When, however, an eclipse of the sun takes place, everyone is amazed - because it happens rarely."
~ Gerald of Wales
