A Haystack in the Backyard
You’d never know it, but hidden in the woods of Groton, Massachusetts, lies one of the more critical radio telescopes in the world, MIT’s Haystack Observatory. It was here that not too long ago, the processing was done by an incredible team, including the awesome Dr Katie Bouman, who was responsible for developing the algorithm used to composite data together to create the first picture of a black hole.
My youngest and I were driving one day and, having seen the signs for the Observatory before, decided to see where the roads would lead us. As luck would have it, two roads provided the right vantage points to see aerial arrays and domes. Having taken the first and just seen the edges of the radomes seen above, we decided to proceed down the other.
Haystack is open to walking around during the day, though vehicles must remain outside the entrance facilities. Having exhausted our attempts to drive further into the campus, I promised to return with a drone to see what it looked like from the air.
It’s an immense property if you consider that you can see Boston on the trailing edges of the above photo. Each building has its place for processing radio data, employing many researchers, scientists, and others who combine to form an elite astrophysics team in my backyard. It’s pretty awesome if you ask me.
As we tiptoe into April, at least here in the NorthEast, we’re getting ready for the significant emergence, the blossoming of newness that comes with the change of seasons. We’ve got the upcoming solar eclipse to look forward to (and I’ll hopefully have some shots of that), and as I’ve alluded to over the past few weeks, changes are coming to our little neck of the woods, too. I can’t overstate how much patience has become our go-to virtue, but it’s also where you’ll find us more threadbare now.
Finding joy in the surrounding environment, even when all you want to do is scream in anticipatory excitement or frustration, is humbling. It grounds you to the things, people, and environments where you’ve found yourself repeatedly. For me, it’s lighthouses, oceans, and landscapes; for you, it might be back porches, lemonade, and firepits. Regardless of what these things may be, they’re in your path to help remind you of your humanity.
Just as new growth is promised after the snow starts clearing and the temperatures start rising again, we are also promised another chance at moving forward. After the battering of previous seasons, we’re given a chance at redemption, of mending fences, hearts, and spirits. We’re allowed to weed the gardens of our discontent, sow the seeds of change, and cut back the excesses of our soul’s hibernation.
I pray that you find your groundedness, your “haystack” that you’ve always wondered about in your backyard and that it gives you a new perspective on what you may have always taken for granted.
May it ever be so.
