Solar Eclipses, Rising Stars, and Drones
By Luke Carothers, Editor-in-Chief, Civil+Structural Engineer Media
We are just days away from our second quarterly publication of Civil+Structural Engineer Magazine. For the first time, this special issue will contain both the winners of the 2024 Engineering Drone Video of the Year (EDVY) competition and Zweig Group’s Rising Stars Award. Fittingly, the theme for the Q2 issue is “To New Heights; the Stars.” Over the last several months, I have been engaged with the various tasks of bringing this issue of the magazine together, and, during that time, I couldn’t stop my thoughts from wandering towards visions of the stars and understanding the perspectives afforded by reaching new heights.
During this time, I was also lucky enough to witness the spectacular solar eclipse as it made its path across the United States, which pushed stars and thoughts of the future even closer to the forefront of my mind. Like so many other families on April 8th, 2024, my family flocked toward the path of totality for that day’s solar eclipse. We spread out our blanket on the flat, grassy top of an earthen dam just north of Fort Smith. We had arrived just as the sun and moon had taken up their dance, and what would have normally been a brightly-lit afternoon had already begun to take on an almost ashen atmosphere. Taking my seat, I gazed up at the solar eclipse with glasses procured from my local library pressed tightly to my face. Although fractional at this point, a sliver of intersection between the two distant bodies was starting to emerge and grow.
After a few minutes trying to track the growth of the moon’s sliver on the sun, I lowered my gaze and removed my eclipse glasses to take in my surroundings. When I had craned my neck just a few minutes before, there had been a handful of other groups scattered around the grassy surroundings. And, as the moon’s shadow was slowly gaining purchase over the sun, the grounds around us began to swell with people. Parents with their children. Couples. Groups of laughing friends. Construction workers taking a break from their work. Welders shielding their eyes under hooded helm. Overhead, the humming of someone’s personal drone could be heard.
For weeks on end, the news and radio warned about the coming deluge of traffic. Fearing this, we thought we stood a better chance opting for the less trafficked, older route, and set out on our journey south through the Boston Mountain region of the Ozarks. From my vantage-point atop the dam, I could see the extending valley below which was traversed on its far side from end-to-end with the “new” interstate. As the park continued to fill with groups of onlookers, I watched the traffic on the interstate thin, as more and more vehicles exited towards their point of destination. Before long, the darting pass of shape and color had become uniform, as a small handful of semi-trucks lumbered their way forward, presumably constrained by deadline.
Lowering my vision again, I took in my surroundings once again. The park surrounding the dam was teeming with people in various states of leisure and play. On a ridge high above the far side of the lake, there were a small cluster of homes nestled on a small ridge. Through the dense trees and dimming light, these homes seem to be almost of the landscape, consisting of a patchwork of brown and orange native stone stitched together with white mortar.
As I returned my thoughts to my immediate surroundings, a current of excited whispering had begun to make its way through the crowd. It was almost time. I once again glanced at the slow dance between the sun and moon to see their near embrace. Almost imperceptibly at first, the light around us began to change. Dreamlike, the light that flooded the valley began to turn ashen and excited murmurs blew away loosely in the breeze. I could feel the sense of collective excitement rise, limited not only to humans but also in the wildlife hidden amongst the landscape. As the light faded, crickets began to chirp, birds twittered and flitted about anxiously, and fish began to break the surface in the nearby lake. In a heartbeat, the light of the day was gone. The gathered crowd fell almost silent in reverence–not thinking of much save for the majesty of the moment.
As someone who writes about the AEC industry for a living, I couldn’t help but connect this experience with our role in managing the built environment. Sitting atop that earthen dam, I couldn’t help but be excited and thankful to be a part of this industry. And, reflecting upon this experience some weeks later, I couldn’t help but think forward to the next solar eclipse, which is now two decades away. It made me think about the impact our Rising Stars every year have on the industry, and made me think about all that will be accomplished by this group before we see the next solar eclipse. What impact will they have on the built environment? What impact will they have on their firms? How will they change the way we do things? Along the same line, given the development of drones and other unpiloted systems over the previous twenty years, how will they shape the way our work is done in another twenty? Only time can tell us the answers to these questions, but, by looking at those pushing things and leading the way in the current moment, we can start to see who will shape the future.
Be sure to check out the latest issue of Civil+Structural Engineer Magazine on June 10th to see our 2024 Rising Stars and EDVY winners, and catch a glimpse of the future.
