Star Quality

A few years ago I headed to Oregon’s Summer Lake Wildlife Area to meet friends for our annual spring bird-a-thon. Armed with binoculars, the Merlin Bird ID app and bird books, we good humoredly tried to outdo each other’s species count. Come nightfall, I took in the staggering beauty of the Milky Way that claimed the night sky. It was as though, like me, the birds and animals of the desert had been rendered speechless by the spectacle. The only sounds were the occasional hoot of owls, the haunting call of nighthawks, here and there the yip of the coyote. I located some of my favorite constellations and stars, Ursa Major and Minor, the North Star, Cassiopeia, Cygnus, Orion. Whenever I see them it’s like a reunion with lifelong friends.

But I was startled out of my reverie by something that frightened me. It looked like the handle of the Big Dipper had broken off! The stars that made up the severed handle moved slowly and stealthily across the night sky. They didn’t blink like a satellite, didn’t gain speed or drop behind, rather an evenly choreographed procession through space. I imagined similar events that confounded early humans, the sky producing an inexplicable display of light and seen either as messages of good fortune or impending doom. I saw doom. The faithful night sky I had grown up with, counted on, was breaking apart.

You’ve probably guessed. It was not the handle of the Big Dipper. It was Elon Musk’s Starlink. Now, with many hundreds more twinkling cars attached to his star train, it is less likely that a novice star gazer like me would see them as the severed arm of the Big Dipper. The colonization of space is in overdrive. But take heart, the good, old-fashioned constellations endure.

Stars get a lot of attention during the holiday season. As a rich emblem of Judaism, the Star of David is integrated into the celebration of Hanukkah. During Christmas, the Star of Bethlehem is credited for leading the wise men to the infant Jesus, is seen by some as the visitation by an angel, the heavenly recognition of a royal birth. But a major religious holiday isn’t a prerequisite for stars to be center stage. It seems that any time of year we’re happy to wish on stars (Starlight, star bright, first star I see tonight …”) or sing to stars (Twinkle, twinkle little star…”).

What exactly are stars? If you’re interested in finding out, locate an observatory near where you live such as the Pine Mountain Observatory east of Bend. Established in 1967 by the University of Oregon, it offers programs for old and young during spring and summer outreach nights and is also the field school for the university’s astronomy and astrophysics students. In many ways the face of the observatory is Professor Scott Fisher, an astronomy lecturer at UO. He can translate gamma-ray burst modeling, gravitational waves, and the expansion of the universe into layman’s terms. His enthusiasm makes everyone wish they could run away with the star circus. His passion was evident one evening last spring at a small-group presentation to bring attention to the work of the Pine Mountain Observatory and to help advocate for some new stars — Woody’s Stars.

The holiday season is a time of giving. Mail and email in-boxes overflow with solicitations for worthy causes. If you’re into stars of the human and celestial kind, Woody’s Stars (www.woodysstars.org) is one to consider. To learn more, first watch Space, Hope and Charity www.spacehopecharityfilm.com. The video is the creation of Bend’s award-winning director/producer/writer Sandy Cummings. You’ll meet the aspiring, young astrophysicist, Charity Woodrum, her professor, Scott Fisher, and her toddler son, Woody. The film recounts a tragedy beyond reckoning turned into a life-affirming opportunity for others, namely The Woody’s Star Fund, supporting college STEM students. The story is star bright.

That same evening, Professor Fisher dazzled us with stories of starlight travel delay, of cosmic time machines. How we’re actually seeing stars as they were in the past. How, in some cases, the star we wish on has died during the millions of light years it took for its light to make the journey to earth. When he said this, I heard someone in the audience mutter to themselves, “Maybe we’re already dead.” That notion stopped me in my tracks. What if we’re each an earthbound reflection of a life that existed before? What if we are the reflection of a life already spent? What’s not to light?

Happy Holidays!

This article appears in the Source December 25, 2025.