I haven’t been sleeping too well. Apologies for being a bit cranky. We’ve had a number of city neighbors moving in to town who apparently don’t know how to turn off a light switch.
There are nights I feel like I’m living on the runway of LAX.
When I first moved up here, it was to get away from the city. On a clear night I could see the Milky Way easily from my yard or deck. The stars were bright and clear. You could even see that some of them were different colors with the naked eye.
Over the decades, light pollution has become increasingly problematic. Now the lights of the Victorville area have grown to the point that you can’t see any of the night sky near the horizon if you’re looking to the North. Victorville and surrounding communities drown out the starlight. If you looked up you could still see the majority of the stars, so that was okay.
However, as more city people moved into my little town, they’ve gotten in the habit of leaving their exterior lights on all night. Some of them have floodlights that blink on and off all night long.
Night isn’t dark anymore. At 3am I can easily wander around my house with no lights because the light from surrounding neighbors spilling through my windows is so bright.
Over the past year, I noticed that I couldn’t see Orion anymore. At first I thought I was just looking for him on cloudy nights, but on a clear moonless night in January I realized the truth. I could not longer see my friends Orion or Ursa Major because my neighbors have the entire town lit up like an LA street. The only thing missing now is stadium lights on the tops of the mountains shining down on the village.
Right now, every night the light is brighter than what we used to call twilight. It’s only getting worse.
Why are city people so afraid of the dark?
Night used to bring out owls, raccoons, opossums, cute little kangaroo mice, the occasional bobcat, and bats. Coyotes could be heard howling & yipping while hunting. On nights with a full moon, you could watch their shadows moving along the wash as they commuted to preferred hunting grounds for their nightly meal.
A UV light would show you insects that you didn’t normally see. While I’m sure the insects are still around. The UV light isn’t strong enough to reveal them. Either the UV is being cancelled out by the background light, or the fluorescence that some insects reflect back is too dim to see. During some seasons, a UV light would make the ground around my house look like an 80s disco scene.
All that is gone, driven out by humans from dazzling urbanite cities and their terror of the dark. Also gone is my ability to sleep soundly with the bedroom shade up. I like falling asleep enjoying the changing moonlight, and on moonless nights looking out at the stars.
When I first found this place, in Spring, Summer, and into Early Autumn, the door to the deck and yard would be open while I was awake.
My dogs would routinely trot out to inspect the yard and keep out unwanted visitors. They’d come back in after their rounds, proud of a job well done. They’d lay on the floor near me ears pricked for an unusual sound. When something sounded odd, they’d be out again checking the perimeter, then if all was secure, they’d come back in and lay down. Bedtime was signaled by me brushing my teeth. They’d head out for one last look around then come in and I’d close the door. We’d all head to the bedroom where one or both of them would assume guardian position facing the bedroom door.
Nights were dark and peaceful. I rested well, secure that my boys could see anything in the night that I couldn’t, should someone or something come into the house. They were the best alarm system in the world. Smart, automatic, and selectively defensive. If they recognized you they’d greet you happily. If they didn’t, they’d let you know you were not welcome until I said you were.
I miss the days of never locking my door. I miss the dark nights, stars, and occasional asteroids leaving streaks of fire in the sky. I miss watching the constellations march across the night or dip below the horizon depending on the time of the year.
These are some of the reasons I came to this little town one weekend and decided to stay.
Now that so much of what I loved about being here is gone, I find that I stay out of nothing more than habit. Fearful humans have robbed me of the joys I used to find in everyday life here in the mountains.
It’s time to move on.
One last place to call home where I can see the night sky again.
One last place to appreciate the beauty of nature without car alarms chirping, people shouting, and nature itself hiding from all the cacophony humankind can’t seem to live without.
A place of silent beauty that somehow seems magically eternal.
A place with seasons.
Summer thunderheads rumbling the ground, flashing lightening, marching across the sky.
The sound of rain on the roof and smell of rich ground soaking up the life giving water.
The feel of a brisk Autumn wind blowing leaves across my path.
A cool bite of gentle snow landing on my cheeks in the gray time of deep Winter.
The riotous miracle of Spring as plants wake from their slumber.
There was a time in my life when I had many of these things. I was too young and impatient to really appreciate it. Where I live now, once gave me some of these wonders.
It’s said, “Adapt or die,” I think I choose to do neither.
I choose to find what I lost, and this time to really appreciate it.
