Third Time's the Charm

When I was a child growing up near Binghamton, New York, magic happened one night: the Northern Lights - Aurora Borealis - danced for us. This was a good 50 years ago, long before cell phones and Aurora Apps. This was when no one saw them coming, and we were incredibly lucky to catch them at all.

Binghamton, while considered “Upstate” by folks who live within 50 miles of New York City, is really just north of Pennsylvania. Not far enough north to be regularly treated to the spectacle of the Northern Lights. But one night, they reached out to us, and our neighbor alerted the neighbors - those of us who lived in the four houses on the top of the hill in our very rural, very dark area.

We streamed out of our houses to stand in the darkness, staring in wonder at the dancing green lights. They seemed very much alive, the way they moved and pulsed. And even at my young age, those many years ago, I knew I was witnessing something special.

Fast forward to the present. My husband and I were on a Bucket List Quest to see the Northern Lights. 2024 was forecast to be a banner year for Lady Aurora. Due to complicated sunspot and solar flare activity, “they” - the community of scientists who understand these things - told the world that this was our chance. “Go to a lightless area with a clear line of sight to the horizon and look to the North.”

Well. Easier said than done. I no longer live in the darkness of Upstate New York; nor is the darkness as dense as it was when I was a kid. So where to go to realize this dream?

Iceland! We researched “hot spots” for the Northern Lights: Iceland, Norway, Alaska. Iceland seemed the best choice, so we began to plan our trip.

And then their active volcanic geography began its own dance. Volcanoes erupting, lava flowing, villages being evacuated. The last thing they needed was a couple of tourists. Strike One.

Okay, we thought, where can we go that’s more local? Somewhere we can drive to? Vermont! Back to the research, back to the planning. Where is the best spot? When is the best time of year? When are the scientists predicting that we will have a chance to see them there?

We planned a trip for February. Picked out a spot. Found a hotel and made a reservation. Drove - a very long drive - to get there. Went to bed early so we could get up at 3:00 AM, which was the ideal time according to the Aurora Apps. Marched through a snowy wood to an ice-covered lake.

And saw a beautiful ice-covered lake under a gloriously full moon. Beautiful, yes. Aurora? No. The Lady didn’t show. Strike Two.

But wait, there are still more chances! We watched the news, read the papers, compulsively scrolled through FaceBook, kept our eyes on the skies and on our Aurora Apps. Spent several nights driving through the darkness in the middle of the night chasing a promise of a possibility. No joy.

Finally, we took a trip into the Adirondacks of New York State - really Upstate - to close up our family camp for the season. We had chased down so many fizzled promises of seeing the Lights that we were, shall I say, skeptical of those promises. We could see them tonight? Sure. It could happen. There’s a chance… a fat chance. Still, I might as well look out the window on the long drive back home, see if I can see anything.

What’s that pink? Sunset? It’s too early for the Northern Lights. But it doesn’t really look like sunset…and it’s more north than west. Could it be?

Not wanting to call a false alarm again - there had been enough of them already - I kept my mouth shut and my hopeful eyes eagerly on that glow…that glow that is…NOT sunset.

“This is it!” I shrieked to my husband. “This is it! Turn right! Turn right!”

Startled but willing, my husband started looking for a road to turn down. Found one. Turned. My eyes were locked on those beautiful, magical, elusive lights in the sky. Unlike other false alarms or near-misses that we’d experienced, we could actually see these with the naked eye.

The colors bloomed: pink, orange, yellow, blue. We searched for a dark place to park, a view to the horizon, a place to get off the road and stare.

“Close enough.” We pulled to the side of the road in front of a dark house, across from a farmer’s field that stretched in the right direction.

And there she was. Beautiful Lady. The Northern Lights. Aurora Borealis.

We gazed in awe, struck dumb by the magnificent show. Graceful streams of colors reached up, stretched, flexed, changed. Pink and orange, green and yellow, blue and purple. We could see them move, ghostly gossamer veils of light. They were so vivid, so tangible, that we could almost hear their music. The power of this magnificent spectacle froze us in our tracks, petrified in the face of such glory. The blessing of Nature drifted from those fingers of light, floating down, settling, caressing us, making us feel as tiny as a grain of sand, or a drop of dew, before such glory. A very lucky grain of sand. A very special drop of dew.

The show only lasted for about fifteen minutes; then the waves of color vanished as quickly as they had appeared, leaving us awestruck, staring at the now-dark sky.

At last, the lights danced for us. Third time’s the charm.