I turned the car around with a deep sigh.
I was just leaving town when I realized I forgot something important. My socks.
And underwear.
Yes, after years and years of experience packing for trips and short getaways, I forgot two of the most crucial fundamentals. I sometimes feel like I'm seriously losing it.
I was on my way to my high school class reunion.
I hardly ever saw any of my classmates anymore now that I live in a different town.
I think reunions are one of those things that are terribly easy to talk yourself out of. It's easy not to go. It's easy to say "nah."
I always remind myself of this: I find that when I'm not crazy excited about something, there's a pretty darn good chance that the experience will exceed my expectations...often times in a huge way. I prove that to myself over and over which is why I muster up the energy to just go and to make sure I don't miss it.
So here I was, running late, and I retrieved my crucial fundamentals and headed back out of town.
The sun was heading down and I knew I had no chance of making it to Watertown before dark, so I started thinking about some possible pictures that might have a chance of developing.
See, this is what obsessed landscape photographers do---they constantly analyze light conditions, research the changing weather, and just try to be in the right place at the right time. Since I knew I wouldn't get to town before dark, perhaps a sunset shot might be in order.
For the past several months through my various trips, I've stared at this amazing looking barn, and I was headed right for it. I passed it dozens of times and noted the mile marker in my phone:
[South of 114 empty barn window]
It was noted in my phone for safe measure, but burned into my brain because it was too important to forget.
The barn's east and west walls were tattered and exposed, creating an amazing silhouette of the leftover infrastructure.
I was by myself, I had all the time in the world, and I started thinking about this barn. I knew that if I could avoid getting a flat tire, I'd arrive to where I needed to be by the time plummeted below the horizon.
Could the sun go behind the barn tonight?
Could the sun light up the barn like a stain glass window?
Could the sun peek at me from behind the barn?
I drove freely and slowly since I knew I had plenty of time. People were passing me on the highway. This hardly ever happens.
I arrived at marker 114 and the sun was still pretty high.
Do I just go or sit here and wait...and waste time?
I cranked up the tunes, and I waited. I knew that the chances of the sun taking the precise angle to unite with the barn was a long shot. The picture was too compelling and vivid in my mind to ignore.
I sat and waited. And waited. About 30-40 minutes passed.
Okay, sun, please move that way...little more, little more.
Oh man! Is it going to just miss?
Am I seriously waiting here for nothing?
I was pulled over on the interstate, just waiting for a highway patrol to check in on me. (I've had this happen many times when I need to pull off and take pictures).
Ten more minutes passed. I rolled down my window to check yet again, and that's when I knew.
This was going to work out. I was going to capture what I envisioned.
This happens next to never. I learned once again that sometimes you just need to give it a chance.
The sun smiled at me as it slowly moved downward left to right.
Things got exciting.
Oh please, don't have a patrolman stop now...
And then this happened...
The sun followed my concise commands. It couldn't have positioned itself better as it passed behind the barn.
To my preference, not a single cloud was in the sky. There was nothing to interfere with...nothing to fight.
It was a simple union of the barn and the sun.
I took so many pictures that I processed the image dozens of times. I think this one below might be my favorite out of the bunch.
I would later ask my Math PhD friend Paul if he could figure out mathematically what the odds of this happening were. Paul, I'll be following up with you in 60 days. Perhaps one of your students could make it their thesis.
My other smart friends helped consolidate the data points. Scott said something quite meaningful:
"Well, let's see, this happens twice a year..."
Indeed, this event happened almost exactly 6 months ago. It happens twice a year at this precise angle.
It was not a union between the sun and the barn.
It was a REUNION.
Just like mine.
