Well, if you've made it this far, you probably feel as if you've gotten to know me a little by now. You know that I like to travel and love the natural world. I've visited museums and botanical gardens on many trips where I didn't get to do any digging, such as my excursions to Japan, Europe, and South America. You've figured out that I also love to write. I always have, although years ago I wrote mostly poetry. My first "big trip away from home" was when I was 16 and three of my girlfriends and I spent two weeks hitchhiking around Quebec and staying in youth hostels. That really got me hooked on travelling; I hadn't done much while growing up except to go to Wisconsin to visit my gramma every once in a while. I want to share with you a tidbit from that trip, even though it's related to astronomy and not paleontology. Many of you probably have wide-ranging interests, too.

The highlight of that trip for me was the total solar eclipse which we made a point of going 200 miles out of our way to see. If you've never seen a total eclipse, it can hardly be compared to a partial one. Even at 97% solar coverage, like the one I saw in 1994 from La Paz, Bolivia, all you get is twilight. At totality, you get nighttime, but a greenish nighttime with an eerie feeling. This is how it was for me.

Solar Eclipse in Quebec, July 10, 1972.

On a sand bar, by a river,
In a valley lined with pine trees,
In the west the sun shone brightly,
Round and full, a dragon's bait.

From the north the beast approaches,
Hid in mist, the sun as bright;
Takes a nibble from his belly,
Bites again with waxing greed.

Subdued by mist, the sun is prey
To be devoured bite by bite.
With bloated gut and coal-black skin
The monster burps and closes in
To eat the sun's last light.

The sky is night, the valley hushed,
The black and evil thing
Is broken by a rim of light
A dancing fairy-ring:
The placid moon slides off and south.
It opens wide its gluttoned mouth
And lets the sun slip through.