The Rocket

Our friend Phil is a rocket scientist. And when your friend the rocket scientist invites you to come to see the rocket he built from scratch launch into space, you go. Especially if the journey is just a few fried shrimp and some wild ponies away from where you are anyway. Per the scientist’s instructions, we drove up the Eastern Shore, out to Chincoteague (technically to the Wallops Island Nasa station), down a windy dead-end-road between corn and cotton to where the marsh starts and the world ends to get the best view of the launchpad. Above is the picture I took of it, dark under infinite stars, cocked and ready to go, literally poised to search the skies looking for the end of the universe. Here is the picture Toshiaki Arai took:I mean, seriously, how amazing is that!? Philly K, brilliant genius, rocket launcher, and he cooks a mean fish.

Author: loiseaufait

Little by little the bird feathers its nest, and object by heart burnished object we surround ourselves with lovely necessities of memory and function. It is these things that make a silly Apartment a Home or a silly Wednesday an Occasion. Whether my nest is an old farmhouse, a sixth floor tenement walk up, or a brownstone basement... whether I share it with family, vagabonds, women of heart and mind, or a little brown cat and a sweet ginger banjo, my principal joy is filling it with light and laughter (and corralling). View all posts by loiseaufait