#54: Red Jupiter

I like to think that Dad just wanted company for all those drives. Or, maybe, he wanted me to see the stars.

One of the best ways of getting continuous observations of Jupiter is to employ citizen scientists and their own small telescopes all around the world…We have the public actually identify points of interest and people say, “Oh I think this feature is interesting and we should have a picture of it and here’s why.” - NASA (2019): Citizen Scientists: Data for the World

The shape, colour, and size of the engine and exterior would morph over the years, but the interior of the cab was always the same: full of life’s reminders and remainders, things to be said and errands to run.

Wedged within the geometric chaos, and the organic perfume of naugahyde and grease, was a young me. I’d twirl a white pyramidal ruler between my fingers, peering at the alien measurements; I’d smooth a digit over the carved tip of a rectangular pencil that could only be sharpened with a utility knife. Cylinders and tubes of loosely-rolled building plans, and boxes of purchase orders and invoices: these blanketed me as I (tried to) sit dutifully in the passenger’s seat, cradling a hot chocolate.

“Each dip close to Jupiter is called a perijove, which is Greek for the extreme points in the orbit of one body around another. During its brief flyby it gets super-close to the planet’s cloud-tops to take some astonishing photos.” (Source: Forbes, 2022).

Embedded in this chaos, and a pre-teen storm, was calm. Sometimes, we talked, but most times I sat quietly, listening to my dad work, then getting bored and staring out into the wild. There were times where he wouldn’t even pretend a stop was “just a few minutes”, and I’d be allowed outside to wander the unfinished lot. My proximity wouldn’t make the conversation go any faster, but at least I could take my curiosity for a stroll. Walking around empty, newly-framed houses, I imagined the lives that would be contained inside soon. When I got bored of the house’s ironic confines, I would squish in mud puddles, balance tight-rope walker style along two-by-fours wedged in mountains of fill, or make houses out of triangles and squares remaining from a cut. The saw dust would cover my hands, and I’d take a big breath of fresh cuts and sap.

The minutes dissolved into hours, and I could never tell how long we had been there.

One exceptionally clear evening, we drove to Chance Harbour (of SNBU fame). Being a night visit to a client’s home, and where I’m sure my mom was home at the time, I’m not sure why I was asked along. I like to think that Dad just wanted some company for the drive.

Sitting on a cliff, the house has expansive windows facing a prime view of the inky Bay of Fundy waters below, and the full moon that painted the ocean from above. The cozy lodge interior had foregone stuffed trophy carcasses, choosing instead floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, well-populated with stories and painted, too, in warm light. Being around eight or nine years old, the individual titles were of little interest to me. However, the sheer quantity of books outside of the West Branch Public Library was astonishing, and for the most part, enough to hold my interest.

The minutes dissolved into hours, and I could never tell how long we had been there.

At one point, perhaps sensing waning interest, the client left the room to return with a mammoth stuffed mouse for me: at least three feet in height, purple fur with yellow pants held up by rainbow suspenders, and a yellow sombrero. I smushed my face into the plush and breath in the smell of old books.

But eventually, even books and carnival prizes could not hold me back much longer, and I eventually creep over to the picture windows facing the Bay where a giant telescope pointed out through the expanse of glass. I surreptitiously peek through the viewfinder but see nothing but a blurry black.

The client sees me and smiles, and comes over to adjust the focus and aim the scope at a target. I looked back through, and see the frame filled with a red, dappled ball.

“Is that the Moon?”

“Nope, that’s Jupiter.”

I squinted through the lens again and tried to imagine how far away it really was. It seemed like a neighbour of our moon.

If the mission to Jupiter had happened when I was nine, it’s very possible I would have clogged up our home computer with endless images of the giant. What a fascinating and engaging example of citizen science: By having amateur astronomers send NASA their images of Jupiter that highlight curious findings, the scientists then plan future fly-bys of the planet to capture these points-of-interest in greater detail with JunoCam. The space agency then shares these images back with citizens, who can process them in creative and analytical ways.

Yet, while I’m amazed at the creative edits coming from JunoCam with the endless marbled palettes, Jupiter will always be red to me.

Those hours, they were really just minutes.

The radiation was supposed to destroy it after about seven orbits - yet, as of April 14, 2023, Juno Mission marked an unpredicted 50 orbits of the giant planet. (Source: NASA, 2023)

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