The stunning Orion Nebula - The Royal Astronomical Society of ...

Palomar Oranges
by Ken Backer, Mississauga Centre
(kbacker@iprimus.ca)
Recently my wife, Lin, and I engaged in one of our favourite
Sunday-morning activities—cruisin’ the Aberfoyle Flea
Market near Guelph, Ontario. Several acres of stuff, from
antiques to junk, await one’s discovery, and if you can’t find
what you’re looking for, it probably hasn’t been made. High on
the shelf in back of one stall I noticed a small sign with the
word “Palomar” in white letters, and below it was an illustration
of an observatory. Closer examination revealed this was
the end board of a crate, an orange crate to be exact, for the
paper sign attached to it read “Palomar Brand” and below the
illustration of the Observatory were the words “Grown and
Packed by Escondido Orange Ass’n., Escondido, Calif.”
After handing over the appropriate coinage, I was the proud
owner and added it to the other treasures we had purchased
that morning.
A check on the
Internet produced
no information on
Palomar Oranges.
The Escondido
Orange Association
came into
being in 1928
when it split from
the Escondido
Fruit Growers,
but appears to
be in business no
longer. Escondido
is an area north of San Diego, and San Diego is the closest
major centre to the Palomar Observatory. Construction of
the Palomar Observatory began in 1928, but completion
and scientific research didn’t take place until 1948. It housed
the Hale telescope, and with its 14.5-ton 200-inch mirror,
remained the largest reflecting telescope in the world
until 1976.
I’m sure the construction of this observatory was a major
event, and its completion made it a prominent attraction for
the area (Disneyland had not been built yet). It appears some
savvy enterpriser decided to capitalize on this and name his
orange growing business after the observatory.
Next, I will keep an eye out for a crate end board for
Kitt Peak Cabbage (big crop in Arizona). Or, Mount Wilson
Peaches…. V
Ken Backer is a member of the Mississauga Centre who displays
acquired flea-market treasures at his home in Milton, Ontario.
To See the Stars Anew
by Martin Beech, Campion College,
The University of Regina, Regina SK S4S 0A2
It has always irked me as improper that there
are still so many people for whom the sky is no
more than a mass of random dots.
– M.C. Escher
I am a child of Earth’s Northern Hemisphere, and from
Auckland, New Zealand, the night sky is a blend of the
familiar and the new. Some of the heavenly patterns I can
recognize, but other regions are unfamiliar, novel, and exhilarating.
Whole new vistas of the Universe have opened out to
my silent gaze—the scene is star studded and unsettling in the
way that only the unfamiliar can jolt one from the deep rut
of routine. I am a child of the Northern Hemisphere and the
night sky has changed.
Age has an annoying way of creeping up on you—the great
sea-swell of time carrying one ever forward on a shifting
tide of distraction and work. Younger dreams and aspirations
become lost and re-directed, perhaps inevitably, by
the insidious flux of the every day. To climb Mt. Everest, to
become a train driver, an explorer, or an astronomer, to see
Machu Picchu, the Ross ice shelf, to experience Pamplona
and the running of the bulls, to gaze upon Southern
Hemisphere skies—all such plans were laid in the enthusiasm
and moneyless state of high-school youth. Well, my inspiration
wish list is still growing and certainly it is nowhere near
completed, but recently at least one item was successfully
removed from its time-ridden lines.
To witness, for the first time, the stars of the Southern
Hemisphere was, to my great delight, an experience that
both transformed and rejuvenated my mid-life mind. The
vista wrenched my brain from the standard routine; nothing
was immediately recognizable, and I saw the heavens afresh
and new. There was novelty in the celestial vault. The experience
re-kindled my seemingly, and without clear realization,
long-lost wonder in simply looking at the stars—no telescopic
optics, no computers, no Internet, no star maps.
My first view of strange star fields was caught through
scuttling clouds on a damp and blustery Auckland night
towards the end of July, the southern winter. Moving windows
of clarity, edged by dark cumulus, revealed The Pointers of
alpha and beta Centauri. Toliman was riding high in the sky,
shining with a brilliant unashamed light—like quicksilver,
strong and defiant. Slightly below The Pointers, its longer axis
horizontal, rested Crux, the Southern Cross. From beyond
the dry and lifeless star maps, this smallest of constellations
burst into sight; definitive, vibrant, and distinct. The view was
all too brief, however, and my viewing window of the sky, all
October / octobre 2011 JRASC | Promoting Astronomy in Canada
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