
"Saturn is the planet with the most rings.
Saturn has 30 moons.
Nine Earths could fit across its diameter."
With that last stat in mind,
contemplate the depth
of this image:

Five years ago, on the way to have dinner with some friends in Columbus, OH, I took my three-inch Celestron 'scope along for the ride. It was the early spring of 2000, probably a few weeks before
Saturn and Jupiter's arcminutes-wide conjunction.
I had taken the telescope with me because I was quite interested in getting people to look up at the objects in the sky. The highlight that night was Saturn -- even though
the Moon was out as well.
While we waited outside for our seats, I set up the tripod and set the sights on the pale dot that I knew was the planet. I recall being satisfied with myself for being able to get a bead on Saturn pretty quickly. At times, I have a problem
catching sight of the Moon.
I gave my companions a look-see and enjoyed being a witness to their wonder. A young couple left the restaurant around that time, and they asked what we were looking at. When we replied Saturn, they were of course curious to know if the rings were visible. "Oh yeah..." might have been casual response.
The guy took a look first. I began my over-the-shoulder guidance: "Now, you'll need to tell me if you don't see anything, because it can go out of view pretty fast. The focusing knob is right below the eyepiece. You'll see the planet, and then you should make out the rings..."
[Even though I think it's obvious that there are rings around the planet, I've come to appreciate that for someone who's never looked through a telescope, what's there to be seen is quite unfamiliar. The size, contour and color of the planets aren't comparable to anything else in memory. Even when the object is the speckled Sun, people sometimes remark: "I just see a yellow circle... and I think there's something on your lens."]
The guy pulled up after a pause, and he looked at me with a little surprise. "Wait, did you put that in there?" He wanted to be sure that I hadn't pulled a joke on him; that I hadn't inserted a picture inside the lens.
"No, that's really it!" That he could actually see
the rings of Saturn [not in the manner depicted in the linked photo, mind you] through a thin, aluminum tube that was set up in a parking lot probably did seem improbable. But, still, that's what he saw. His companion took a look and they seemed amazed. My friend Mary commented: "Wow, now I see how you can make so many friends doing this!" And then off we went to eat.
---
I began this practice of public planetgazing because, one night in 1998,
on the corner of 4th Avenue and Clement Street in San Francisco, I saw two gentlemen with Dobsonian 'scopes asking people if they wanted to look at
Jupiter.
The notion that two people would spend their time doing this in the middle of one of the largest and brightest cities in the country was novel, entertaining and (ultimately) instructive.
I read an article about
John Dobson and the
SF-based Sidewalk Astronomers a couple of years later. I don't remember that either one of the gentlemen mentioned that group, but I have little doubt that they weren't devoted to
Dobson's ethic of sharing the wonder of space with the people.
[
See: "I'm allergic to the Big Bang."]
I bought my own telescope -- the same one mentioned at the beginning -- when I moved back to
New Mexico in 1999. I had lived near
Sedona, AZ, several months earlier, but I hadn't used anything more powerful than binoculars to scan the stars... and that UFO near the airport mesa [a whole other story].
I bought the telescope because I had enrolled in a couple of continuing-ed astronomy classes at Santa Fe Community College. There, I became reacquainted with the scientific aspects of the field, and I met many other enthusiasts. Living in the southewestern desert and reawakened my awareness of the cosmic environment, and having a telescope to peer into those dark skies was
a revelatory experience. As I wrote in the text of my
Skychurch page: "...I understood that I was not looking 'up' into 'the sky.' I was, in fact, gazing
out across a planar surface that ran parallel to the Earth's equator."
It was during the time of my informal studies that I made arrangements to
go to France to see the total solar eclipse that took place on
August 11, 1999 [at 11:11, local time]. I remember talking with my instructor about getting
proper solar filters, and he was a little aghast that I hadn't done that with only a few days before my departure. But I was living on a bit of an edge in those days...
Anyhow: I left New Mexico to return to Ohio in November -- maybe the day after observing
Mercury's transit of the Sun. My instructor and I had our telescopes set up in the college plaza so that students and administrators who were walking about could have a look. I still have the contact timings sheet, somewhere...
I began two years of service with AmeriCorps a few months later. Since it was a K-5 afterschool program, you have to that know I often brought in my equipment.
One of the most meaningful memories comes from the end of my first year. I brought in the telescope because Jupiter was going to be
just above the horizon around the time that the kids would be leaving. I had not had the chance to show them an actual planet.
There were four of us out in the front lot in the chilly air, trying get a look at Jupiter (and perhaps Saturn) through the branches and wires and streetlamp glow. They were patient, and I want to say that I heard them concocting tales of getting in spaceships and heading out into the expanse. I do remember that, at other times, a couple of them laid down knowledge and contemplation about the Sun and planets that showed how absorbent and sharp their minds were, despite the rote schooling they received.
The children's ready interest in these endeavors reminds me of an aspect of this "public outreach" that often leaves me bemused. And that is: I often have to invite people over -- work the crowd -- in order to get them to gaze across space. I told my Lady Friend that I might hang a sign from the tube to indicate that people are free to look [and that looking is free].
The observations one can make (and the reactions that one can receive) in these situations are almost as captivating as those to be made of the planets and Moon. The one that still gets me is when someone flatly says "No," without looking at me, the 'scope or the sky.
But
I'll have to get into that later, because my time has run out.