"What are you doing?"

This from my newly arrived boss. Not an unreasonable query, considering I was standing in the parking lot, one hand balancing binoculars on the corner of a stone wall, camera in the other hand, my foot trying to hold a piece of paper flush on the concrete in the shadow of the wall.

Trying to get a picture of the transit of Venus!

And not faring well, since 50+ mph winds were flipping the blank paper up and down, preventing the camera from getting any kind of focus.

"Can you see it?" he asks excitedly, and I show him the dark little dot in the bright oval on the sidewalk, refracted through the inverted binocs.

We should have gone inside to prepare for the meeting, but I already had the tables and chairs out. This was more important. A literal twice in a lifetime opportunity. So for the next 15 minutes or so, we fought the wind and fiddled with angles on the binocs, and impatiently waited for interfering clouds to pass by.

Eventually our activity drew the attention of the center's manager, who returned with a pair of eclipse glasses stolen from his kids. And we could look and see our neighboring planet hanging in space in front of the burning sphere of flame.

Cool.

You could even make out a couple sunspots.

But then it was time to get to work, and besides, his kids wanted their glasses back.

The unfortunate timing of our public meeting was entirely my fault. By the time I finally got around to scheduling things, this was the only evening all week that necessary folks had free. I was just glad the clouds let me see the transit before we had to go inside for a couple hours.

I had exactly 20 chairs set out in an arc around the screen.

Do you think I'm being overly optimistic?

I was. By a factor of two. But it was one of the most informal, helpful public meetings I've ever been part of. If only they all turned into chat sessions like that.

We broke up some time before seven-thirty. Still time to see the transit again before sunset. And lo and behold, who comes into the room as we're gathering chairs?

Beloved daughter-in-law, bearing gifts driven all the way over from University Town, just for this occasion... eclipse glasses.

(Well, true, they didn't need to drive 90+ miles to get out of the clouds, but once they started our way, why not keep going?)

She leaves both orange and aluminum glasses and runs off to find the rest of the family. But people are having such a good visit, nobody wants to leave. I've packed up 200 chairs in that room faster than we got those 20 put away.

The parking lot is already in shadow, but the sun is still hitting the walls of the buildings around us. Gotta find some spot touched by the sun!

But here comes the crew that was setting up the plane for the week's antelope surveys, and another 20 minutes is spent hearing their tales of woe, and the day's delay already thrown into the schedule. I wilt as I watch the setting sunlight climb the buildings around us.

Finally we scatter, and I race south, where sunlight is still hitting the hillsides. At the first opportunity I drop off the highway and test the new glasses.

Venus has moved most of the way across its route, but I can see the sun will set before it reaches the edge of the sun's disk. I hold the camera to the glasses again, and start shooting.

"What are you doing?"

I jump, since I didn't hear his truck pull up, this close to the interstate. One of the guys responsible for setting up the airplane. And our conversation is almost an exact repeat of the one I had earlier with the boss.

He is thrilled to see the transit, and calls home, 80+ miles away, to tell his wife to get the kids out to see it.

You can see the land rising up to meet the sun. Eldest son pulls up on the highway next to us, and shouts that we're all meeting for dinner afterwards. And then speeds off into town.

And then, in what seems like just seconds, it is over.