Those of you who know me also know that I am a nut for nature. Often, I think that I could have been a meteorologist or storm chaser in another life. I used to dream about tornadoes and still squeal like a 5 year old at a bolt of lightning. I can sit and look at rock formations for hours – observe how the light and shadows play on canyon walls and change the colors. To get a good view, I will get uncomfortably close to spiders, snakes, lizards, bugs – including those that may be dangerous.

Every time I travel to the desert – really any desert – I feel a deep sense of belonging. There is something oddly familiar about it – how the sky opens up, the colors get both muted and brilliant, the warm air transports the scent of sage and earth on a dry wind – that feels like home to me.  Even at the age of 6, road tripping with my mom and dad through the American Southwest, I felt a certain connection. This feeling is one of my main drivers to get out of the city and move to Mexico; to be closer to the desert and nature. Thus, it will not surprise you that in 2012 when we found out about the 2017 total solar eclipse, my husband and I made a pact to see it and why we chose to go East to the desert.

Of course, back then we didn’t know that we’d be separated by 1,500 miles, but a lot can change in 5 years. Honestly, it was a great excuse for him to drive up the Baja peninsula for a visit. After narrowly averting disaster when a wheel flew off the trailer on the grapevine (thanks to the hero bro who recovered the wheel and happened to have extra bolts!), he arrived and we prepped for the trip. On Friday, we loaded up the car in Oakland, collected a few good friends from SF, and hit the road. Our destination was a farm in a tiny town in Eastern Oregon for a festival put on by Atlas Obscura. We expected an apocalyptic adventure – traffic, gas shortages, etc. – so we started at the crack of dawn and planned to spread it over 5-6 days.

Our first stop was a sweet little campground in Nevada (Rye Patch Recreation Area) where we swam in a delightful reservoir among white painted hills, sagebrush and cottontail rabbits. The birdlife was plentiful – we even saw a white pelican in the river below the dam spillway, a strange sight in the middle of the arid desert. The next night we stayed at Lake Owyhee (more swimming!) after a beautiful drive through the multicolored cliffs along the Owyhee River. Coffee and breakfast consumed, we headed to Durkee Oregon for the festival.

Atlas Obscura put on a great little event. It was intimate as for as festivals go (~200 people?), on a verdant farm nestled in a valley of rolling hills. The program was chock full of science talks, music and activities, but the highlight was surely the eclipse itself.

On our journey up to Oregon, we’d been giggling to ourselves about the seemingly overly passionate way people described seeing a total solar eclipse. Yelling “THE PATH OF TOTALITY” became an inside joke among the group.

After seeing it, I now understand the hyperbole. It really is an awe inspiring and completely environmental experience. Leading up to totality, the light changed – not quite dusk, but similar to when the air is filled with smoke from a fire. We had been warned that the temperature would drop by as much as 17 degrees, but I wasn’t expecting the contrast to be so immediate – we all put on sweatshirts. Shadows got really weird. Totality was magical and I can understand why so many ancient cultures freaked out. Beautiful pictures of the eclipse abound, but I’ve included a shot my husband took of the diamond ring stage.

I may not turn into an Eclipse chaser (yes, they do exist), but we are already planning to be in a good place for the 2024 eclipse which will pass over Mexico. It travels south and misses the tip of Baja by a bit, but with a boat, maybe we can get far south enough to catch it over the ocean.