Grapes of wrath … a smoldering summer saved by the stars

By Mary Kay Roth

One never-ending hour loomed ahead of us after seven weary hours on the road, traveling toward our rented lake house, a vacation caravan with my daughter, granddaughters and me in one car, my son and grandson following in another. 

It was 9 p.m. and we were exhausted – in that zombie state of mind – when we stopped to stock up on groceries and paused in the produce section, clueless about what we needed. I told my kids to take their time while I went to find coffee.

I couldn’t have been gone more than five minutes, but upon my return I found my two grown kids wheeling two separate carts, fuming, in two separate aisles of the grocery store.  They checked out and paid separately, returned to their cars without speaking and continued to the lake.

Later that night it was a tense arrival at our destination, but as we sorted out bedrooms and luggage, I finally asked the obvious question: What in the heck happened?  

They answered in unison: “It was the grapes.”

Josh: “She put cotton candy grapes in the cart, and that is the worst food ever invented in the history of mankind. A revolting Franken-fruit.”

Anna: “Then he put purple grapes in the cart, and there was no way we needed that many grapes. And besides, cotton candy grapes are fantastic.”

Good grief, summer has always been restorative for me, three glorious months of beaches and seashells, cold beer and warm bike rides, tank tops and fresh garden vegetables.

But this year, June and July have been plagued with an unease, a restlessness, and our own ridiculous grapes of wrath were only a microcosm of the bigger picture: a disturbing summer simmering and fomenting with anger.

A summer when … 

• Damning evidence at Congressional hearings illuminated a sitting president who not only tried to destroy democracy but threw ketchup at the wall when he didn’t get his way – and who (believe it or not) seems ready to announce he’s running again.
• The Supreme Court ripped away women’s control over their own bodies, eroded separation of church and state, and made it easier to carry guns (amidst a series of mass shootings across the country).
• Nebraska’s Republican party imploded, the price of a carton of eggs soared, even the giraffes at the zoo went nuts. 

And yet, just as our country smoldered and we all seemed ready to wave the white flag, I found personal salvation in a most surprising place: outer space … as the James Webb Telescope offered us a stunning snapshot of the universe’s baby pictures: The birth of stars, galaxies colliding, a mind-bending voyage way beyond our little cosmic neighborhood.  

When I pulled up those first celestial photographs my brain short-circuited. This miraculous telescope was taking us 13 billion years back in time, pivoting from one patch of the heavens to another. And everyone around me – in fact, around the entire globe – seemed to experience the same gut reaction: a connection, a collective exhale of our souls, a temporary escape from crushing news and fermenting grapes.  

Shannon Stirone, an American science journalist and editor, wrote in awe: “Stars are born, birthing new solar systems full of planets; galactic glitter sprinkles the screen as if splattered with a cosmic paintbrush … We long to understand why we’re here and to find meaning in a world where meaning is so often difficult to divine. Telescopes like this remind us that in spite of our specific challenges on Earth, the possibility of connection still exists.”

Jane Rigby, the project’s scientist for operations, who cried at the telescope’s first images, called the endeavor an example of the triumph of the human spirit, “people in a broken world managing to do something right – to see some of the majesty that’s out there.”

And Farhad Manjoo, a science writer for the New York Times, wrote a column he titled, The Webb Telescope Restored (Some of) My Faith in Humanity.  “The Webb’s success feels like a testament to the cheesy best of us — perseverance, ingenuity, rigor, openness, global cooperation, institutions, a commitment to excellence, exploration and dreamy ambition. In an otherwise dreary time, the telescope is one of those milestones that should bolster your estimation of what our species is capable of.”

***   

Back at the lake, the morning after the infamous grapes of wrath, I went for a sunrise swim and returned to a cabin filled with laughter – Josh and Anna roaring over the ridiculousness of the night before.

Eventually, inevitably, we would return to the real world where the Jan. 6 hearings would become even more ludicrous – where volunteers at Planned Parenthood would face protestors growing even more malicious – where a tank of gas would be worth the price of gold. 

But for our week at the lake, this one sheltered week, we would breathe deeply and let the restorative powers of summer – the power of the stars – wash over us. 

My overgrown kids, grandkids and yes, their grandmother, would cannonball into the cool, clear waters.  We would hike down trails lined with Bee Balm, Foxglove and Black-eyed Susan – jump off cliffs and skip stones – spend our days in swimsuits and bare feet – and kayak out into the sunrise, beyond the buoys where the herons and shorebirds live.  

On our very last evening of vacation we took a late-night swim and watched the glow of dusk turn to twilight.  Cicadas bellowed and bull frogs groaned. Fireflies glittered overhead and the feel of lake water was like velvet between our fingers. Treading water, floating on our backs in the darkness, we looked up.

Astronomer Carl Sagan so famously reflected: “The cosmos is within us. We are made of star-stuff. We are a way for the universe to know itself.” 

So, that night, we gazed at the blanket of stars above us, peered into the opaque mist of the Milky Way and searched for those galaxies far, far away.