Posted on 02/25/2005 3:34:55 PM PST by Congressman Billybob
No, this isn’t about the Star-Spangled Banner, neither the flag nor the anthem. It’s about dawn itself. The promise of a new beginning.
Civilization began, thousands of years before recorded history, when men discovered how to cultivate crops. That meant communities and social organization. It also meant the beginnings of astronomy, studying the movement of the sun.
Early evidence of this includes the “solar observatories” built by the Incas in South America, by the Anasazi in North America, and most famously, by Druids and others at Stonehenge in Britain. All these identified the solar equinoxes, especially in the spring. Coupled with known local temperatures, this defined the earliest date to plant crops for maximum yield.
What’s the point of this dose of archeology? This is one reason why dawn itself is hard-wired into the human psyche. And yet, we modern men tend to ignore natural phenomena. We can light the nights, warm the winters, cool the summers, bring fresh vegetables from half a world away to our markets.
Those of us who live far away from the big cities still feel the power of the dawn. My life was spent mostly in big cities, where modern life makes vagaries like weather irrelevant. But eleven years ago, I moved into a family home in the North Carolina mountains. It’s a turn of the century house with a wrap-around porch.
Traditional overhanging porches in the South turn out to be ideally designed to gain maximum winter sun, and minimum summer sun. My house does this, and is well sited. The front sides of the house face southeast and southwest. This means maximum solar gain on the coldest days of winter because the sun is then perpendicular to the glass enclosing the porch.
That is a utilitarian concern for the sun. Reactions go much deeper than that.
Most windows in my home face the rising sun. The first year I lived in this house, the break of dawn woke me up every morning, no matter when I went to bed. There is magic in the colors and shapes as the dawn first paints the clouds, then the mountains, then the nearby forests.
I spent six years doing live radio with a colleague broadcasting from Boston. I usually went on-air about 6 a.m. That was always at dawn, or before. So I’ve watched dawn break, maybe a thousand times now. Like snowflakes, it’s always unique.
Are there only a few of us who appreciate the dawn? I argue not. Consider the motto of Alcoholics Anonymous, which appears on auto bumpers across the nation. It is, “One Day at a Time.” That recalls the meaning of dawn.
Yesterday is gone, and unchangeable. When and if tomorrow comes, who knows what it will offer? In the words of the Jerry Reed song, “Today is the only garden that I can tend.” Shakespeare was more eloquent in Hamlet with these lines: “But, look, the morn in russet mantle clad / Walks o’er the dew of yon high eastern hill.”
Sometimes, dawn is more than a promise; it reveals the future. When Francis Scott Key watched the British bombardment of Fort McHenry through the night of 13-14 September, 1814, he knew the situation well. Washington had already fallen. If Fort McHenry was reduced, with it would fall Baltimore, and all the ports where Frigate Constellation and her five sister ships, and dozens of the famed Baltimore Clippers, were built, launched and outfitted. And ships like those were the only hope for America to survive against the British in the War of 1812.
The British siege guns fell silent before dawn that night. Key knew that meant the outcome had been reached. Either the British had taken the Fort, and with it the City and the nation, or the British had given up, and the Fort held firm. Dawn answered the question. The great battle flag still flew. The nation was saved.
There are few dawns indeed which carry that much meaning, ultimately for the whole world. But for every individual, tomorrow’s dawn may have great meaning. So the reason for this column is this: If it’s been years since you’ve made a point of getting up and out before dawn, do it tomorrow. And pick a good site to watch the display. And then, do it again, whenever you would gain from this special pleasure “by dawn’s early light.”
As Scarlet O’Hara said in one of the most famous closing lines of all time, “Tomorrow is another day.”
About the Author: John Armor is a First Amendment attorney and author who lives in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina. John_Armor@aya.yale.edu
John / Billybob
Go ahead, John. Rub it in! ;-)
She's clearly a most intelligent woman.
The problem with living on the coast is that you come to see being on the coast as mundane and pedestrian.
Same thing probably applies to the mountains.
Go walk in the woods from time to time and write about what surrounds you.
Regards,
GS
One correction: The Druids did not build Stonehenge. They arrived on the scene much later. We know little of the civilization that actually built it.
Thank you for the excellent piece here.
I, too, have taken to appreciating the outdoors a lot more once I got out of the bustle. It took me about half a year to unwind, but I love it now. I enjoy nothing better than watching the sun rise and set, and the porch indulges me for both. Sometimes, I just watch it and listen to the animals and the breeze rustling the underbrush. There is no better way to relax yourself after a hard day's work.
I spend a lot of time on the road as well, or course, and one of the big joys I get from it is watching the sun rise and set.
Oh, sure, some of you will think I'm nuts, but I encourage all of you to take a moment and witness the surroundings. It will make your problemns seem a bit less pressing, and will give you a new appreciation for how lucky all of us really are.
I like to see dawn breaking over the ocean. I've lived on both coasts and seeing the sun RISE over the ocean on the East Coast is much better than seeing the sun SET down on the ocean on the West coast. Also like the East Coast full moon rise over the the ocean as well.
On Guam in 1968, I often went to work as dawn broke, and the displays were truly spectacular. In fact a day without technicolor blue and orange rays fanning from the sun still below the horizon was a disappointing morning.
We did not have much in the way of TV, so on many evenings we practically watched the clock to go outside and check out the sunset . My sister's house overlooked the Pacific Ocean and the 360 degree displays of color were marvelous.
Well whatta da ya know, y'all can write on other than politics. Ya done good hitchin up with the lovely and gracious Felicity Fahrquar.
Nice job sir and I do look forward to others as well.
Best Regards
alfa6 ;>}
Thank you for this blessing.
"Wisely, he said nothing."
Well done!
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