A recent discovery by Hubble Space Telescope sounds like a cosmic version of “Beauty and the Beast.” A beastly black hole appears to be leaving a trail of beauty in its wake: a ribbon of bright stars. Astronomers discovered the system as a small streak of light on a Hubble image. Follow-up observations revealed that it’s more than seven billion light-years away and 200,000 light-years long. There appears to be a hot spot at one end of the streak, and a small galaxy at the other. A trail of young stars connects them. The team that discovered the system says the hot spot probably contains a black hole up to 20 million times the mass of the Sun. It’s plowing through clouds of gas, heating them and making them shine brightly. The gas flows around the black hole. It cools and condenses, forming new stars. The black hole might have started its jaunt almost 40 million years ago. Three galaxies merged and their black holes fell toward each other. A complex dance sent one of the black holes careening off into space. A few months after the initial announcement, though, other astronomers suggested that the system is a lot less exciting. It’s simply a thin galaxy seen edge-on, so it looks like a bright streak of light — beauty without the beast. Whatever its true nature, the system is in the head of Cetus, the whale or sea monster, which is in the southeast at dawn, close to the brilliant planet Jupiter.  Script by Damond Benningfield Support McDonald Observatory

A recent discovery by Hubble Space Telescope sounds like a cosmic version of “Beauty and the Beast.” A beastly black hole appears to be leaving a trail of beauty in its wake: a ribbon of bright stars. Astronomers discovered the system as a small streak of light on a Hubble image. Follow-up observations revealed that it’s more than seven billion light-years away and 200,000 light-years long. There appears to be a hot spot at one end of the streak, and a small galaxy at the other. A trail of young stars connects them. The team that discovered the system says the hot spot probably contains a black hole up to 20 million times the mass of the Sun. It’s plowing through clouds of gas, heating them and making them shine brightly. The gas flows around the black hole. It cools and condenses, forming new stars. The black hole might have started its jaunt almost 40 million years ago. Three galaxies merged and their black holes fell toward each other. A complex dance sent one of the black holes careening off into space. A few months after the initial announcement, though, other astronomers suggested that the system is a lot less exciting. It’s simply a thin galaxy seen edge-on, so it looks like a bright streak of light — beauty without the beast. Whatever its true nature, the system is in the head of Cetus, the whale or sea monster, which is in the southeast at dawn, close to the brilliant planet Jupiter. Script by Damond Benningfield <a href="http://mcdonaldobservatory.org/support" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Support McDonald Observatory</a>

Beauty and the Beast

According to an old saying, “from tiny acorns do mighty oak trees grow.” And mighty black holes must do the same thing. The problem is, astronomers aren’t sure just what form the black hole “acorns” take. Supermassive black holes inhabit the hearts of most galaxies — and perhaps all of them. They can grow to billions of times the mass of the Sun. And some of them did so in the blink of a cosmic eye — in the first few hundred million years after the Big Bang. Despite their reputation, though, black holes can’t gobble up enough stars and gas to grow that big that fast. So they must have grown from some sort of “seed” — something that was fairly heavy to begin with. One possibility is the merger of a bunch of smaller black holes. The combined black hole would be massive enough to pull in enough material to grow to supermassive proportions. Another possibility is giant clouds of dark matter — material that we can’t see, but that pulls on the stars and galaxies we can see. And yet another is mid-sized black holes that formed when compact but heavy clouds of gas collapsed. It’s also possible that the first supermassive black holes formed from collapsing gas clouds directly. The clouds were so tightly packed that they couldn’t resist gravity’s powerful grip — making them “acorns” from which mighty black holes grew. We’ll talk about a possible trail of stars behind a black hole tomorrow.  Script by Damond Benningfield Support McDonald Observatory

According to an old saying, “from tiny acorns do mighty oak trees grow.” And mighty black holes must do the same thing. The problem is, astronomers aren’t sure just what form the black hole “acorns” take. Supermassive black holes inhabit the hearts of most galaxies — and perhaps all of them. They can grow to billions of times the mass of the Sun. And some of them did so in the blink of a cosmic eye — in the first few hundred million years after the Big Bang. Despite their reputation, though, black holes can’t gobble up enough stars and gas to grow that big that fast. So they must have grown from some sort of “seed” — something that was fairly heavy to begin with. One possibility is the merger of a bunch of smaller black holes. The combined black hole would be massive enough to pull in enough material to grow to supermassive proportions. Another possibility is giant clouds of dark matter — material that we can’t see, but that pulls on the stars and galaxies we can see. And yet another is mid-sized black holes that formed when compact but heavy clouds of gas collapsed. It’s also possible that the first supermassive black holes formed from collapsing gas clouds directly. The clouds were so tightly packed that they couldn’t resist gravity’s powerful grip — making them “acorns” from which mighty black holes grew. We’ll talk about a possible trail of stars behind a black hole tomorrow. Script by Damond Benningfield <a href="http://mcdonaldobservatory.org/support" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Support McDonald Observatory</a>

Black Hole ‘Acorns’

The giant planet Saturn keeps company with the Moon tonight. They climb into good view by 10:30 or 11. Saturn looks like a bright star close to the left of the Moon. It’ll stand even closer to the Moon at dawn tomorrow. Saturn is best known for its beautiful rings. They probably represent the shattered remains of one or more small moons — countless bits of ice from the size of dust grains to boulders. The major rings span more than two-thirds the distance from Earth to the Moon. But they’re amazingly thin — no more than a few hundred feet thick. And across most of their great span, they’re only about 30 or 40 feet thick. To put that into perspective, consider this: If you reduced the rings to the length of a sheet of printer paper, they’d be far thinner than the paper. They got so thin as bits of material rammed into each other, grinding them down to smaller and smaller pieces. Each piece settled into its own orbit around Saturn’s equator. Because the rings are so thin, when we see them edge-on, they all but vanish. That happens every 14 or 15 years, around Saturn’s equinoxes — the start of spring or fall. Northern fall will arrive in May of 2025, so that’s when the rings will next appear edge-on. For now, their angle is pretty shallow, so the view through a telescope isn’t great. Even so, it’s still one of the most amazing sights in the solar system — the incredible rings of Saturn.  Script by Damond Benningfield Support McDonald Observatory

The giant planet Saturn keeps company with the Moon tonight. They climb into good view by 10:30 or 11. Saturn looks like a bright star close to the left of the Moon. It’ll stand even closer to the Moon at dawn tomorrow. Saturn is best known for its beautiful rings. They probably represent the shattered remains of one or more small moons — countless bits of ice from the size of dust grains to boulders. The major rings span more than two-thirds the distance from Earth to the Moon. But they’re amazingly thin — no more than a few hundred feet thick. And across most of their great span, they’re only about 30 or 40 feet thick. To put that into perspective, consider this: If you reduced the rings to the length of a sheet of printer paper, they’d be far thinner than the paper. They got so thin as bits of material rammed into each other, grinding them down to smaller and smaller pieces. Each piece settled into its own orbit around Saturn’s equator. Because the rings are so thin, when we see them edge-on, they all but vanish. That happens every 14 or 15 years, around Saturn’s equinoxes — the start of spring or fall. Northern fall will arrive in May of 2025, so that’s when the rings will next appear edge-on. For now, their angle is pretty shallow, so the view through a telescope isn’t great. Even so, it’s still one of the most amazing sights in the solar system — the incredible rings of Saturn. Script by Damond Benningfield <a href="http://mcdonaldobservatory.org/support" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Support McDonald Observatory</a>

Moon and Saturn

The modern calendar owes its existence to the most famous of all Roman emperors, Julius Caesar. In 46 B.C., he ordered the creation of a new, highly organized calendar to replace the messy system that was in use at the time. With a few minor revisions, we still use that calendar today. One of those revisions is the names of the months of July and August. Under the original Roman calendar, the year began with March. The two hot summer months were called Quintilis and Sextilis — names that mean the fifth month and sixth month. But soon after the new calendar was introduced, the Roman Senate honored its benefactor by changing the name of Quintilis to July. Then, in the year 8 B.C., emperor Augustus Caesar decided that he should have his own month, so Sextilis was changed to August. Scholars disagree on whether other changes were made when August was named. Some say that Sextilis originally contained only 30 days, but Augustus added a day so that his month would be as long as that of Julius Caesar. Incidentally, August 1st is the date of an ancient English festival called Lammas. It’s a “cross-quarter” day — a day that’s roughly half-way between a solstice and an equinox. In some cultures, the cross-quarter days marked the beginnings of the seasons, not their mid-points as they do today. Lammas was a day for celebrating the first harvest — marking an important date on the imperial summer calendar. Script by Damond Benningfield Support McDonald Observatory

The modern calendar owes its existence to the most famous of all Roman emperors, Julius Caesar. In 46 B.C., he ordered the creation of a new, highly organized calendar to replace the messy system that was in use at the time. With a few minor revisions, we still use that calendar today. One of those revisions is the names of the months of July and August. Under the original Roman calendar, the year began with March. The two hot summer months were called Quintilis and Sextilis — names that mean the fifth month and sixth month. But soon after the new calendar was introduced, the Roman Senate honored its benefactor by changing the name of Quintilis to July. Then, in the year 8 B.C., emperor Augustus Caesar decided that he should have his own month, so Sextilis was changed to August. Scholars disagree on whether other changes were made when August was named. Some say that Sextilis originally contained only 30 days, but Augustus added a day so that his month would be as long as that of Julius Caesar. Incidentally, August 1st is the date of an ancient English festival called Lammas. It’s a “cross-quarter” day — a day that’s roughly half-way between a solstice and an equinox. In some cultures, the cross-quarter days marked the beginnings of the seasons, not their mid-points as they do today. Lammas was a day for celebrating the first harvest — marking an important date on the imperial summer calendar. Script by Damond Benningfield <a href="http://mcdonaldobservatory.org/support" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Support McDonald Observatory</a>

Imperial Month

Real estate markets have been pretty volatile in recent years. And that’s true even beyond Earth. Astronomers have been trying to figure out whether it’s possible for anything to live on planets orbiting red-dwarf stars. That’s important to know because red dwarfs are by far the most common stars in the galaxy. So if such star systems can support life, they could increase the Milky Way’s habitable real estate by a factor of 10. Red dwarfs are the smallest, coolest, and faintest of all stars. But they’re also the longest-lived — the smallest could shine for trillions of years. And they account for three-quarters or more of all the stars in the galaxy. Small, rocky planets similar to Earth should be common around such stars. And a large fraction of the planets could be in the best location — inside the habitable zone — the region where temperatures are just right for liquid water. That could mean tens of billions of potentially habitable worlds. But there are lots of caveats. Because a red dwarf is so feeble, its habitable zone is narrow and close to the star. But red dwarfs produce powerful outbursts of X-rays, so any close-in planets would be zapped by radiation. And close planets would be locked so that the same side always faces the star, creating big differences in the daytime and nighttime temperatures. So astronomers are still trying to figure out the real estate market around red-dwarf stars.  Script by Damond Benningfield Support McDonald Observatory

Real estate markets have been pretty volatile in recent years. And that’s true even beyond Earth. Astronomers have been trying to figure out whether it’s possible for anything to live on planets orbiting red-dwarf stars. That’s important to know because red dwarfs are by far the most common stars in the galaxy. So if such star systems can support life, they could increase the Milky Way’s habitable real estate by a factor of 10. Red dwarfs are the smallest, coolest, and faintest of all stars. But they’re also the longest-lived — the smallest could shine for trillions of years. And they account for three-quarters or more of all the stars in the galaxy. Small, rocky planets similar to Earth should be common around such stars. And a large fraction of the planets could be in the best location — inside the habitable zone — the region where temperatures are just right for liquid water. That could mean tens of billions of potentially habitable worlds. But there are lots of caveats. Because a red dwarf is so feeble, its habitable zone is narrow and close to the star. But red dwarfs produce powerful outbursts of X-rays, so any close-in planets would be zapped by radiation. And close planets would be locked so that the same side always faces the star, creating big differences in the daytime and nighttime temperatures. So astronomers are still trying to figure out the real estate market around red-dwarf stars. Script by Damond Benningfield <a href="http://mcdonaldobservatory.org/support" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Support McDonald Observatory</a>

Valuable Real Estate

Some well-known binary star systems are in good view as night falls. Antares, the heart of the scorpion, is due south. Blue-white Spica is at about the same height in the southwest. And Polaris, the pole star, stands due north, just as it does every night of the year. Many of the other stars visible to the naked eye are binaries as well — two stars that orbit each other, bound by their mutual gravitational pull. In fact, binaries are quite common. But astronomers aren’t sure just how common. One study put the fraction of stars that are in binaries at about half. But others have come up with higher numbers. Binaries probably are born in the same way as single stars — from the collapse of giant clouds of gas and dust. As the cloud gets especially tight, though, it splits apart. That creates two newborn stars — and sometimes three, four, or even more. Most of the biggest and heaviest stars have binary companions. Binaries are less common among stars that are roughly the mass of the Sun. And they’re least common among the smallest and faintest of stars, known as red dwarfs. Because they’re so puny, they’re hard to study, so we’re not sure just how likely they are to be members of binaries. But red dwarfs account for most of the stars in the Milky Way Galaxy. So zeroing in on that likelihood will give us a better idea of just how many stars have companions — and how many travel through the galaxy alone.  Script by Damond Benningfield Support McDonald Observatory

Some well-known binary star systems are in good view as night falls. Antares, the heart of the scorpion, is due south. Blue-white Spica is at about the same height in the southwest. And Polaris, the pole star, stands due north, just as it does every night of the year. Many of the other stars visible to the naked eye are binaries as well — two stars that orbit each other, bound by their mutual gravitational pull. In fact, binaries are quite common. But astronomers aren’t sure just how common. One study put the fraction of stars that are in binaries at about half. But others have come up with higher numbers. Binaries probably are born in the same way as single stars — from the collapse of giant clouds of gas and dust. As the cloud gets especially tight, though, it splits apart. That creates two newborn stars — and sometimes three, four, or even more. Most of the biggest and heaviest stars have binary companions. Binaries are less common among stars that are roughly the mass of the Sun. And they’re least common among the smallest and faintest of stars, known as red dwarfs. Because they’re so puny, they’re hard to study, so we’re not sure just how likely they are to be members of binaries. But red dwarfs account for most of the stars in the Milky Way Galaxy. So zeroing in on that likelihood will give us a better idea of just how many stars have companions — and how many travel through the galaxy alone. Script by Damond Benningfield <a href="http://mcdonaldobservatory.org/support" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Support McDonald Observatory</a>

Binary Stars

To modern eyes, the brightest stars of the constellation Sagittarius form the outline of a teapot, with the handle to the left and the spout to the right. To ancient eyes, though, it was the archer — a centaur holding a bow and arrow. It’s tough to pick out the centaur, but the bow is easy. It’s traced by an arc of three stars in the teapot, including the brightest star in the whole constellation. The stars are Kaus Borealis, Kaus Media, and Kaus Australis — names that mean the northern, middle, and southern points of the bow. Kaus Borealis forms the top of the teapot. Kaus Australis is at the teapot’s bottom right, and is the brightest member of the constellation. And Kaus Media bows outward between them. All three stars are giants — they’re much bigger and brighter than the Sun. And even though they’re much younger than the Sun, they’re much later in life. That’s because they’re all more massive than the Sun. Heavy stars consume their nuclear fuel quickly, so they burn out in a hurry. That process causes their outer layers to puff up, which makes them much brighter. Kaus Media is the farthest member of the bow, which means that it’s actually the most impressive of the three stars — it’s more than a thousand times brighter than the Sun. And if there’s a bow, there must be an arrow as well. It forms the outer point of the spout of the teapot — one more giant star that’s near the end of its life.  Script by Damond Benningfield Support McDonald Observatory

To modern eyes, the brightest stars of the constellation Sagittarius form the outline of a teapot, with the handle to the left and the spout to the right. To ancient eyes, though, it was the archer — a centaur holding a bow and arrow. It’s tough to pick out the centaur, but the bow is easy. It’s traced by an arc of three stars in the teapot, including the brightest star in the whole constellation. The stars are Kaus Borealis, Kaus Media, and Kaus Australis — names that mean the northern, middle, and southern points of the bow. Kaus Borealis forms the top of the teapot. Kaus Australis is at the teapot’s bottom right, and is the brightest member of the constellation. And Kaus Media bows outward between them. All three stars are giants — they’re much bigger and brighter than the Sun. And even though they’re much younger than the Sun, they’re much later in life. That’s because they’re all more massive than the Sun. Heavy stars consume their nuclear fuel quickly, so they burn out in a hurry. That process causes their outer layers to puff up, which makes them much brighter. Kaus Media is the farthest member of the bow, which means that it’s actually the most impressive of the three stars — it’s more than a thousand times brighter than the Sun. And if there’s a bow, there must be an arrow as well. It forms the outer point of the spout of the teapot — one more giant star that’s near the end of its life. Script by Damond Benningfield <a href="http://mcdonaldobservatory.org/support" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Support McDonald Observatory</a>

Bow and Arrow

Pull out your binoculars and make sure you have a clear western horizon after sunset the next few nights. You’ll need them to see an amazing close encounter between the planet Mercury and the star Regulus, the heart of the lion. This evening, they’ll pass just one-tenth of a degree from each other — less than the width of a pencil held at arm’s length. Regulus has frequent encounters with solar system bodies because it’s almost on top of the ecliptic, which is the Sun’s path across the sky. The Moon and planets stay close to the ecliptic as well, so they periodically pass close to Regulus. Just this month, the list of close visitors has included Mars, Venus, and the Moon. Mercury is the least frequent caller. It’s the closest planet to the Sun, so it never appears far from the Sun in our sky. That means Mercury has to wait for Regulus to come to it, shortly before sunrise or shortly after sunset. Mercury has been creeping up on Regulus for a few nights. And it will remain close for a few more nights as it pulls away. Look for Mercury and Regulus beginning about a half-hour after sunset, almost due west. They’re so low in the sky that any trees or buildings along your horizon will hide them from view. Mercury is the brighter of the two targets. The view is better from the southern United States because the ecliptic stands at a slightly more favorable angle — a better view of a beautiful encounter.  Script by Damond Benningfield Support McDonald Observatory

Pull out your binoculars and make sure you have a clear western horizon after sunset the next few nights. You’ll need them to see an amazing close encounter between the planet Mercury and the star Regulus, the heart of the lion. This evening, they’ll pass just one-tenth of a degree from each other — less than the width of a pencil held at arm’s length. Regulus has frequent encounters with solar system bodies because it’s almost on top of the ecliptic, which is the Sun’s path across the sky. The Moon and planets stay close to the ecliptic as well, so they periodically pass close to Regulus. Just this month, the list of close visitors has included Mars, Venus, and the Moon. Mercury is the least frequent caller. It’s the closest planet to the Sun, so it never appears far from the Sun in our sky. That means Mercury has to wait for Regulus to come to it, shortly before sunrise or shortly after sunset. Mercury has been creeping up on Regulus for a few nights. And it will remain close for a few more nights as it pulls away. Look for Mercury and Regulus beginning about a half-hour after sunset, almost due west. They’re so low in the sky that any trees or buildings along your horizon will hide them from view. Mercury is the brighter of the two targets. The view is better from the southern United States because the ecliptic stands at a slightly more favorable angle — a better view of a beautiful encounter. Script by Damond Benningfield <a href="http://mcdonaldobservatory.org/support" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Support McDonald Observatory</a>

Mercury and Regulus

In 1789, German chemist Martin Klaproth was checking out a dark mineral known as pitchblende, which came from a silver mine. His experiments produced a previously undiscovered element. Inspired by the discovery of the planet Uranus eight years before, Klaproth named his new element “uranium” in its honor. It’s not the only new element whose name was inspired by the heavens. In 1803, one was named cerium in honor of Ceres, a body between Mars and Jupiter discovered just two years earlier. At the time, Ceres was considered to be a planet. As it turned out, though, it was one of millions of bodies in a region known today as the asteroid belt. And the list doesn’t end there. In 1940, scientists created a new element in the lab. It has an atomic number of 93, which means it has 93 protons and 93 electrons. That’s one beyond uranium, which is the heaviest of all natural elements. Since the new element was the next one in the periodic table, scientists named it “neptunium,” for the planet beyond Uranus. Soon after that came the creation of element 94. Like uranium and neptunium, it’s radioactive. That gave it potential military uses, so its existence remained secret until after World War II. By then, scientists had named it for the ninth planet, Pluto: plutonium. And even though Pluto is now described as a dwarf planet, plutonium retains its name — a merger of exploration on the smallest and largest of scales.  Script by Damond Benningfield Support McDonald Observatory

In 1789, German chemist Martin Klaproth was checking out a dark mineral known as pitchblende, which came from a silver mine. His experiments produced a previously undiscovered element. Inspired by the discovery of the planet Uranus eight years before, Klaproth named his new element “uranium” in its honor. It’s not the only new element whose name was inspired by the heavens. In 1803, one was named cerium in honor of Ceres, a body between Mars and Jupiter discovered just two years earlier. At the time, Ceres was considered to be a planet. As it turned out, though, it was one of millions of bodies in a region known today as the asteroid belt. And the list doesn’t end there. In 1940, scientists created a new element in the lab. It has an atomic number of 93, which means it has 93 protons and 93 electrons. That’s one beyond uranium, which is the heaviest of all natural elements. Since the new element was the next one in the periodic table, scientists named it “neptunium,” for the planet beyond Uranus. Soon after that came the creation of element 94. Like uranium and neptunium, it’s radioactive. That gave it potential military uses, so its existence remained secret until after World War II. By then, scientists had named it for the ninth planet, Pluto: plutonium. And even though Pluto is now described as a dwarf planet, plutonium retains its name — a merger of exploration on the smallest and largest of scales. Script by Damond Benningfield <a href="http://mcdonaldobservatory.org/support" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Support McDonald Observatory</a>

Atoms and Planets

Gold, silver, and platinum have something in common besides their beauty. All of them are “ashes” from the destruction of stars. Every gram of these elements — not only on Earth, but throughout the universe — was forged in stellar explosions or collisions. Hydrogen and helium — the lightest elements — were created in the Big Bang. Most other elements were forged in the hearts of stars. But almost all of the heaviest elements — everything beyond iron — were created in stellar deaths. A lot of gold, silver, and platinum were formed in the collisions of neutron stars — the tiny, ultra-dense corpses of once-mighty stars. Such collisions blast debris into space and heat it to tens of millions of degrees. At those temperatures, neutrons stick to the nuclei of heavy elements, making even heavier ones. Astronomers saw that process at work in 2017. They watched as colliding neutron stars created enough silver to make 50 planets as heavy as Earth, enough gold to make a hundred Earths, and enough platinum to make five hundred. But neutron star collisions are rare, so they may not account for all of these precious metals observed in the universe. So some of them could be made in the death throes of massive stars — if they collapse to form black holes, for example. Regardless of the details, though, one thing is certain: It takes the death of a star to forge some of the rarest and most beautiful elements on Earth.  Script by Damond Benningfield Support McDonald Observatory

Gold, silver, and platinum have something in common besides their beauty. All of them are “ashes” from the destruction of stars. Every gram of these elements — not only on Earth, but throughout the universe — was forged in stellar explosions or collisions. Hydrogen and helium — the lightest elements — were created in the Big Bang. Most other elements were forged in the hearts of stars. But almost all of the heaviest elements — everything beyond iron — were created in stellar deaths. A lot of gold, silver, and platinum were formed in the collisions of neutron stars — the tiny, ultra-dense corpses of once-mighty stars. Such collisions blast debris into space and heat it to tens of millions of degrees. At those temperatures, neutrons stick to the nuclei of heavy elements, making even heavier ones. Astronomers saw that process at work in 2017. They watched as colliding neutron stars created enough silver to make 50 planets as heavy as Earth, enough gold to make a hundred Earths, and enough platinum to make five hundred. But neutron star collisions are rare, so they may not account for all of these precious metals observed in the universe. So some of them could be made in the death throes of massive stars — if they collapse to form black holes, for example. Regardless of the details, though, one thing is certain: It takes the death of a star to forge some of the rarest and most beautiful elements on Earth. Script by Damond Benningfield <a href="http://mcdonaldobservatory.org/support" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Support McDonald Observatory</a>

Golden Stars

StarDate, the longest-running national radio science feature in the U.S., tells listeners what to look for in the night sky.

Pluto is putting in its best appearance of the year. It was at “opposition” on Sunday night, lining up opposite the Sun in our sky. So it rises around sunset and is in view all night. It’s also closest to Earth for the year — more than three billion miles away. That means it shines brightest for the year, although you still need a good-sized telescope to see it. It’s easy to find Pluto’s location, though. It’s well to the lower left of the teapot outlined by Sagittarius. Pluto is tiny — about two-thirds the diameter of the Moon. That means its gravity is weak. Yet it’s strong enough to hold onto a thin atmosphere — wisps of nitrogen, methane, and carbon monoxide. The New Horizons spacecraft got a good look at the atmosphere when it flew past Pluto, in 2015. The atmosphere extended almost a thousand miles above the surface — a result of Pluto’s weak gravity. But the atmosphere is so cold that it doesn’t all escape into space. And it contains about 20 layers of haze, made of hydrocarbons and other heavy elements. Backlit by the Sun, the atmosphere looks blue — and for the same reason that Earth’s air is blue: The nitrogen molecules scatter blue light, allowing redder wavelengths to shine through. From the surface of Pluto, though, you wouldn’t see much of that air. It’s no more than a hundred-thousandth as thick as Earth’s — a cold but thin blanket around far-away Pluto. Tomorrow: “golden” stars.  Script by Damond Benningfield Support McDonald Observatory

Pluto is putting in its best appearance of the year. It was at “opposition” on Sunday night, lining up opposite the Sun in our sky. So it rises around sunset and is in view all night. It’s also closest to Earth for the year — more than three billion miles away. That means it shines brightest for the year, although you still need a good-sized telescope to see it. It’s easy to find Pluto’s location, though. It’s well to the lower left of the teapot outlined by Sagittarius. Pluto is tiny — about two-thirds the diameter of the Moon. That means its gravity is weak. Yet it’s strong enough to hold onto a thin atmosphere — wisps of nitrogen, methane, and carbon monoxide. The New Horizons spacecraft got a good look at the atmosphere when it flew past Pluto, in 2015. The atmosphere extended almost a thousand miles above the surface — a result of Pluto’s weak gravity. But the atmosphere is so cold that it doesn’t all escape into space. And it contains about 20 layers of haze, made of hydrocarbons and other heavy elements. Backlit by the Sun, the atmosphere looks blue — and for the same reason that Earth’s air is blue: The nitrogen molecules scatter blue light, allowing redder wavelengths to shine through. From the surface of Pluto, though, you wouldn’t see much of that air. It’s no more than a hundred-thousandth as thick as Earth’s — a cold but thin blanket around far-away Pluto. Tomorrow: “golden” stars. Script by Damond Benningfield <a href="http://mcdonaldobservatory.org/support" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Support McDonald Observatory</a>

Wispy Skies

Pluto doesn’t wear its heart on its sleeve -- it wears it just above its waist. It’s a region that really does look like a cartoon version of a heart. Most of it is north of the equator. The two lobes of the heart are different. The right half is rugged, and its outline is jagged. The left half is brighter and smoother, and its outline is better defined. That side is called Sputnik Planitia. It’s a wide, shallow bowl that might have formed when a giant asteroid slammed into Pluto. Today, it’s filled with frozen nitrogen. There are few impact craters atop the ice, so the surface is young -- less than 200,000 years old. The surface looks like the cracked bottom of a dry riverbed. The smooth segments between the cracks average about 20 miles across, and they’re higher in the middle than at the edges. One possible reason for that appearance is that the nitrogen ice at the bottom of the basin is warmed by Pluto’s interior -- perhaps by a deep ocean of liquid water. The warm ice bubbles to the surface. It builds “domes” and pushes older ice toward the edges, where it cools and sinks to the bottom. It warms up again, then returns to the surface -- giving Pluto a bright heart. Pluto is at its best for the year right now. It rises at sunset and is in view all night. It’s also at its brightest. Even so, you need a big telescope to spot it, near the border between Sagittarius and Capricornus. More about Pluto tomorrow.  Script by Damond Benningfield Support McDonald Observatory

Pluto doesn’t wear its heart on its sleeve -- it wears it just above its waist. It’s a region that really does look like a cartoon version of a heart. Most of it is north of the equator. The two lobes of the heart are different. The right half is rugged, and its outline is jagged. The left half is brighter and smoother, and its outline is better defined. That side is called Sputnik Planitia. It’s a wide, shallow bowl that might have formed when a giant asteroid slammed into Pluto. Today, it’s filled with frozen nitrogen. There are few impact craters atop the ice, so the surface is young -- less than 200,000 years old. The surface looks like the cracked bottom of a dry riverbed. The smooth segments between the cracks average about 20 miles across, and they’re higher in the middle than at the edges. One possible reason for that appearance is that the nitrogen ice at the bottom of the basin is warmed by Pluto’s interior -- perhaps by a deep ocean of liquid water. The warm ice bubbles to the surface. It builds “domes” and pushes older ice toward the edges, where it cools and sinks to the bottom. It warms up again, then returns to the surface -- giving Pluto a bright heart. Pluto is at its best for the year right now. It rises at sunset and is in view all night. It’s also at its brightest. Even so, you need a big telescope to spot it, near the border between Sagittarius and Capricornus. More about Pluto tomorrow. Script by Damond Benningfield <a href="http://mcdonaldobservatory.org/support" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Support McDonald Observatory</a>

Bright Heart

A giant stellar nursery in a nearby galaxy is giving birth to thousands of new stars. That includes some of the more massive stars ever seen, which will explode as supernovas. But most of the stars are much smaller and more sedate, so they’ll live long, quiet lives. NGC 346 is 200,000 light-years away. It’s the biggest and brightest star-forming region in the Small Magellanic Cloud -- a close companion to our home galaxy, the Milky Way. The nursery probably is about three million years old, yet it may already contain tens of thousands of stars. It probably also contains thousands of stellar wannabes -- objects that have not yet lit the fires of nuclear fusion, allowing them to shine as true stars. Until recently, astronomers had seen only the brightest and most massive of the stars that are still being born. But using James Webb Space Telescope, they found hundreds more. Most of them will form stars that are similar to the Sun or smaller. It’s the first time we’ve ever seen the birth process of such modest stars in any galaxy beyond the Milky Way. Webb discovered dust in the disks of material around the newly forming stars -- also a first. The dust grains are made of heavy elements that could someday form planets around the stars -- especially small, rocky planets like Earth. So NGC 346 could be showing us the birth not only of thousands of future stars, but of thousands of future planets as well.  Script by Damond Benningfield Support McDonald Observatory

A giant stellar nursery in a nearby galaxy is giving birth to thousands of new stars. That includes some of the more massive stars ever seen, which will explode as supernovas. But most of the stars are much smaller and more sedate, so they’ll live long, quiet lives. NGC 346 is 200,000 light-years away. It’s the biggest and brightest star-forming region in the Small Magellanic Cloud -- a close companion to our home galaxy, the Milky Way. The nursery probably is about three million years old, yet it may already contain tens of thousands of stars. It probably also contains thousands of stellar wannabes -- objects that have not yet lit the fires of nuclear fusion, allowing them to shine as true stars. Until recently, astronomers had seen only the brightest and most massive of the stars that are still being born. But using James Webb Space Telescope, they found hundreds more. Most of them will form stars that are similar to the Sun or smaller. It’s the first time we’ve ever seen the birth process of such modest stars in any galaxy beyond the Milky Way. Webb discovered dust in the disks of material around the newly forming stars -- also a first. The dust grains are made of heavy elements that could someday form planets around the stars -- especially small, rocky planets like Earth. So NGC 346 could be showing us the birth not only of thousands of future stars, but of thousands of future planets as well. Script by Damond Benningfield <a href="http://mcdonaldobservatory.org/support" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Support McDonald Observatory</a>

Busy Nursery

A companion galaxy to the Milky Way is windy. It’s blowing enough hot gas in our direction to make 85 million stars as massive as the Sun. No one knows just what will happen to the gas. But some of it could fall into the Milky Way, where it really could form new stars. The LMC -- the Large Magellanic Cloud -- is about 160,000 light-years away. It’s the biggest galaxy that orbits the Milky Way -- about one percent of the Milky Way’s mass. It’s home to giant clouds of gas and dust that are spawning new stars. That includes one of the most massive of all stellar nurseries. Some of the LMC’s stars are big and heavy. They live short but spectacular lives, then blast themselves to bits as supernovas. That sends their outer layers of gas racing into space at high speeds. The gas rams into nearby clouds, pushing some of their material as well. And that’s what’s driving the winds. Astronomers have measured the winds on the side of the LMC that faces our way. They’ve found top speeds of about 360,000 miles per hour. Some of the gas may be flowing into a long ribbon of gas, dust, and stars that connects the LMC and the Milky Way. That could fuel the birth of more stars. And more of the gas could wind up in the Milky Way itself -- adding to our home galaxy’s already impressive population of stars.  Script by Damond Benningfield Support McDonald Observatory

A companion galaxy to the Milky Way is windy. It’s blowing enough hot gas in our direction to make 85 million stars as massive as the Sun. No one knows just what will happen to the gas. But some of it could fall into the Milky Way, where it really could form new stars. The LMC -- the Large Magellanic Cloud -- is about 160,000 light-years away. It’s the biggest galaxy that orbits the Milky Way -- about one percent of the Milky Way’s mass. It’s home to giant clouds of gas and dust that are spawning new stars. That includes one of the most massive of all stellar nurseries. Some of the LMC’s stars are big and heavy. They live short but spectacular lives, then blast themselves to bits as supernovas. That sends their outer layers of gas racing into space at high speeds. The gas rams into nearby clouds, pushing some of their material as well. And that’s what’s driving the winds. Astronomers have measured the winds on the side of the LMC that faces our way. They’ve found top speeds of about 360,000 miles per hour. Some of the gas may be flowing into a long ribbon of gas, dust, and stars that connects the LMC and the Milky Way. That could fuel the birth of more stars. And more of the gas could wind up in the Milky Way itself -- adding to our home galaxy’s already impressive population of stars. Script by Damond Benningfield <a href="http://mcdonaldobservatory.org/support" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Support McDonald Observatory</a>

Windy Galaxy

Some things just make sense. Venus and Mercury are the closest planets to the Sun. They’re also the hottest planets in the solar system. That makes sense. But Venus, the second planet from the Sun, is much hotter than Mercury, the closest planet. And that doesn’t seem to make sense -- at least at first. Mercury is the smallest of the Sun’s major planets, and its gravity is weak. So if Mercury ever had an atmosphere, it was blown away by the Sun. Without an atmosphere to spread some of the Sun’s heat, there’s a huge range in temperature. On the dayside, it can peak at 800 degrees Fahrenheit. And on the nightside, it can plummet to hundreds of degrees below zero. Venus is bigger and heavier, so its gravity is stronger. That allowed it to retain its atmosphere, which trapped more and more heat. That evaporated the oceans and boiled gases out of the rocks. The atmosphere got thicker, so it held on to even more heat. Today, temperatures on Venus average about 860 degrees, day and night, around the entire planet. So it just makes sense that Venus is hotter than its closer sibling. Look for Venus and Mercury close together in the western sky the next few evenings. Venus is the “evening star.” Tonight, fainter Mercury is to its right, by about the width of your fist held at arm’s length. Over the coming days, Venus will drop toward the Sun while Mercury pulls away from it -- hot planets headed in opposite directions.  Script by Damond Benningfield   Support McDonald Observatory

Some things just make sense. Venus and Mercury are the closest planets to the Sun. They’re also the hottest planets in the solar system. That makes sense. But Venus, the second planet from the Sun, is much hotter than Mercury, the closest planet. And that doesn’t seem to make sense -- at least at first. Mercury is the smallest of the Sun’s major planets, and its gravity is weak. So if Mercury ever had an atmosphere, it was blown away by the Sun. Without an atmosphere to spread some of the Sun’s heat, there’s a huge range in temperature. On the dayside, it can peak at 800 degrees Fahrenheit. And on the nightside, it can plummet to hundreds of degrees below zero. Venus is bigger and heavier, so its gravity is stronger. That allowed it to retain its atmosphere, which trapped more and more heat. That evaporated the oceans and boiled gases out of the rocks. The atmosphere got thicker, so it held on to even more heat. Today, temperatures on Venus average about 860 degrees, day and night, around the entire planet. So it just makes sense that Venus is hotter than its closer sibling. Look for Venus and Mercury close together in the western sky the next few evenings. Venus is the “evening star.” Tonight, fainter Mercury is to its right, by about the width of your fist held at arm’s length. Over the coming days, Venus will drop toward the Sun while Mercury pulls away from it -- hot planets headed in opposite directions. Script by Damond Benningfield <a href="http://mcdonaldobservatory.org/support" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Support McDonald Observatory</a>

Venus and Mercury

During four years of operations, the InSight lander recorded more than 1300 “marsquakes” -- events that sent sound waves rumbling through the planet. Like this one, many were triggered by space rocks slamming into Mars. Others were caused by Mars itself. They’ve all helped scientists refine their models of how Mars is put together. InSight shut down at the end of 2022. Its main instrument was a seismometer it placed on the surface to record the marsquakes. The way the sound waves rippled through the planet revealed details about its interior. They showed that the crust is thinner than expected, for example, and there’s less difference between the crust in the northern and southern hemispheres. InSight also showed that pools of molten rock lie below large volcanic regions -- perhaps indicating that the volcanoes aren’t quite dead. The lander also revealed that the planet’s core is more than 2200 miles in diameter -- bigger than thought. That means it must contain a lot of lightweight elements, and it must still be molten. Scientists haven’t finished analyzing InSight’s readings -- and they won’t for years. But they’ve already gotten a better picture of the interior of the Red Planet. Look for Mars close to the left of the Moon early this evening. It looks like a modestly bright star. Venus, the “evening star,” is below the Moon, with fainter Mercury off to the lower right of Venus.  Script by Damond Benningfield Support McDonald Observatory

During four years of operations, the InSight lander recorded more than 1300 “marsquakes” -- events that sent sound waves rumbling through the planet. Like this one, many were triggered by space rocks slamming into Mars. Others were caused by Mars itself. They’ve all helped scientists refine their models of how Mars is put together. InSight shut down at the end of 2022. Its main instrument was a seismometer it placed on the surface to record the marsquakes. The way the sound waves rippled through the planet revealed details about its interior. They showed that the crust is thinner than expected, for example, and there’s less difference between the crust in the northern and southern hemispheres. InSight also showed that pools of molten rock lie below large volcanic regions -- perhaps indicating that the volcanoes aren’t quite dead. The lander also revealed that the planet’s core is more than 2200 miles in diameter -- bigger than thought. That means it must contain a lot of lightweight elements, and it must still be molten. Scientists haven’t finished analyzing InSight’s readings -- and they won’t for years. But they’ve already gotten a better picture of the interior of the Red Planet. Look for Mars close to the left of the Moon early this evening. It looks like a modestly bright star. Venus, the “evening star,” is below the Moon, with fainter Mercury off to the lower right of Venus. Script by Damond Benningfield <a href="http://mcdonaldobservatory.org/support" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Support McDonald Observatory</a>

Moon and Mars

The Moon and the “evening star” stage a beautiful encounter early tonight. They’re close together as the Sun sets. They’re an especially beautiful sight because they’re immersed in the colors of twilight. Despite its appearance, the evening star isn’t a star at all -- it’s the planet Venus. Long before the invention of the telescope, skywatchers knew there was something different about this brilliant light. While the true stars all maintain their position relative to each other, Venus and the other “planets” change position from week to week or even night to night. That’s why they’re called planets -- an ancient Greek word that means “wanderers.” Those wandering lights were a nuisance to those who tried to explain the workings of the heavens. Most thought that Earth was the center of the universe. And that seemed to be a reasonable explanation for the Sun, Moon, and stars. But it was harder to explain the motions of the planets. They periodically stop and reverse course. And Venus swings between evening and morning skies, always staying close to the Sun. In fact, it’ll move into the morning sky in less than a month. The explanations for these motions got pretty complicated, which made them hard to believe. These complicated motions convinced astronomers that Earth circles the Sun, along with the other planets -- moving our world out of the center of the universe. More about the Moon and another planet tomorrow.  Script by Damond Benningfield Support McDonald Observatory

The Moon and the “evening star” stage a beautiful encounter early tonight. They’re close together as the Sun sets. They’re an especially beautiful sight because they’re immersed in the colors of twilight. Despite its appearance, the evening star isn’t a star at all -- it’s the planet Venus. Long before the invention of the telescope, skywatchers knew there was something different about this brilliant light. While the true stars all maintain their position relative to each other, Venus and the other “planets” change position from week to week or even night to night. That’s why they’re called planets -- an ancient Greek word that means “wanderers.” Those wandering lights were a nuisance to those who tried to explain the workings of the heavens. Most thought that Earth was the center of the universe. And that seemed to be a reasonable explanation for the Sun, Moon, and stars. But it was harder to explain the motions of the planets. They periodically stop and reverse course. And Venus swings between evening and morning skies, always staying close to the Sun. In fact, it’ll move into the morning sky in less than a month. The explanations for these motions got pretty complicated, which made them hard to believe. These complicated motions convinced astronomers that Earth circles the Sun, along with the other planets -- moving our world out of the center of the universe. More about the Moon and another planet tomorrow. Script by Damond Benningfield <a href="http://mcdonaldobservatory.org/support" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Support McDonald Observatory</a>

Moon and Venus

The Butterfly Nebula is aptly named. Like a butterfly here on Earth, it’s spreading its wings as it emerges from its “cocoon.” And it’s happening in a hurry -- fast enough for astronomers to see changes over periods of just a few years. The “butterfly” is also known as NGC 6302. It represents the death throes of a star a few times the mass of the Sun. The star is casting off its outer layers of gas. Its exposed core is one of the hottest stars ever seen. Ultraviolet light from the core zaps the surrounding gas, causing it to glow. The gas has been sculpted into a shape like an hourglass. From our angle, the lobes of the hourglass look like the wings of a butterfly. The nebula could be shaped by a companion star -- or maybe two companions -- orbiting along the “waist” of the hourglass. The dying star might even have swallowed a companion. Astronomers recently compared pictures of the nebula snapped 11 years apart by Hubble Space Telescope. The images showed that high-speed “jets” of gas from the dying star are blowing material in the outer regions of the wings at almost two million miles per hour. The jets cross and tangle, creating complex and turbulent structures -- changing the wings of the butterfly. NGC 6302 is close to the upper right of the “stinger” of the scorpion, which is low in the south as night falls. The nebula is too faint to see with the unaided eye, but it’s an easy target for binoculars or a telescope.  Script by Damond Benningfield Support McDonald Observatory

The Butterfly Nebula is aptly named. Like a butterfly here on Earth, it’s spreading its wings as it emerges from its “cocoon.” And it’s happening in a hurry -- fast enough for astronomers to see changes over periods of just a few years. The “butterfly” is also known as NGC 6302. It represents the death throes of a star a few times the mass of the Sun. The star is casting off its outer layers of gas. Its exposed core is one of the hottest stars ever seen. Ultraviolet light from the core zaps the surrounding gas, causing it to glow. The gas has been sculpted into a shape like an hourglass. From our angle, the lobes of the hourglass look like the wings of a butterfly. The nebula could be shaped by a companion star -- or maybe two companions -- orbiting along the “waist” of the hourglass. The dying star might even have swallowed a companion. Astronomers recently compared pictures of the nebula snapped 11 years apart by Hubble Space Telescope. The images showed that high-speed “jets” of gas from the dying star are blowing material in the outer regions of the wings at almost two million miles per hour. The jets cross and tangle, creating complex and turbulent structures -- changing the wings of the butterfly. NGC 6302 is close to the upper right of the “stinger” of the scorpion, which is low in the south as night falls. The nebula is too faint to see with the unaided eye, but it’s an easy target for binoculars or a telescope. Script by Damond Benningfield <a href="http://mcdonaldobservatory.org/support" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Support McDonald Observatory</a>

Dynamic Butterfly

This would be a great day to stand on the Earth-facing side of the Moon. That’s because there’s a full Earth in the sky. Our planet is almost four times the diameter of the Moon, so a full Earth looks much bigger than a full Moon. And Earth reflects an average of about three times more sunlight than the Moon does. Put those numbers together, and a full Earth shines more than 40 times brighter than a full Moon -- a spectacular sight in the lunar sky. On the other hand, from Earth, we can’t see the Moon at all. That’s because it’s “new” today -- it crosses the line between Earth and the Sun. It appears close to the Sun, so it’s hidden in the Sun’s glare. The only time we do see the new Moon is during a solar eclipse -- when the Moon passes directly in front of the Sun, blocking all or part of its light. The Moon crosses the Earth-Sun line about once a month. But the Moon’s orbit around Earth is tilted. Most months, the Moon passes above or below the Sun. Two or three times a year, though, the geometry is just right, creating an eclipse. The next one is coming up on October 14th, and it’ll be visible across most of North America. The Moon will be farther from Earth than average, though, so it won’t completely cover the Sun’s disk -- a ring of sunlight will encircle the Moon. The next total eclipse will take place in April. It, too, will be visible from North America -- a spectacular sight from Earth and the Moon.  Script by Damond Benningfield Support McDonald Observatory

This would be a great day to stand on the Earth-facing side of the Moon. That’s because there’s a full Earth in the sky. Our planet is almost four times the diameter of the Moon, so a full Earth looks much bigger than a full Moon. And Earth reflects an average of about three times more sunlight than the Moon does. Put those numbers together, and a full Earth shines more than 40 times brighter than a full Moon -- a spectacular sight in the lunar sky. On the other hand, from Earth, we can’t see the Moon at all. That’s because it’s “new” today -- it crosses the line between Earth and the Sun. It appears close to the Sun, so it’s hidden in the Sun’s glare. The only time we do see the new Moon is during a solar eclipse -- when the Moon passes directly in front of the Sun, blocking all or part of its light. The Moon crosses the Earth-Sun line about once a month. But the Moon’s orbit around Earth is tilted. Most months, the Moon passes above or below the Sun. Two or three times a year, though, the geometry is just right, creating an eclipse. The next one is coming up on October 14th, and it’ll be visible across most of North America. The Moon will be farther from Earth than average, though, so it won’t completely cover the Sun’s disk -- a ring of sunlight will encircle the Moon. The next total eclipse will take place in April. It, too, will be visible from North America -- a spectacular sight from Earth and the Moon. Script by Damond Benningfield <a href="http://mcdonaldobservatory.org/support" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Support McDonald Observatory</a>

New Moon

The scorpion has a potent stinger -- a pair of bright stars at the tip of its curving body. They’re low in the southern sky as night falls, with the rest of Scorpius curling to their upper right. The brighter star in the stinger is known as Lambda Scorpii. It’s the second-brightest star in Scorpius, so it’s hard to miss. Fainter Upsilon Scorpii stands close to its right. Lambda actually consists of three stars. The main star is more than 10 times as massive as the Sun, so it burns through its nuclear fuel in a hurry. It’ll soon begin to exhaust that supply, so it’ll puff outward. The star will engulf its closer companion, which is only a few million miles away. That may destroy the companion, perhaps sending its core spiraling into the core of the main star. And that may hasten the demise of the main star, which is likely to explode as a supernova. Upsilon is a single star, but it’s also a stunner. It’s about 10 times the Sun’s mass, and many thousands of times its brilliance. Although Lambda and Upsilon appear quite close together, they’re dozens of light-years apart. Even so, the stars are related. They were born from the same giant complex of gas and dust. This region has given birth to many massive stars, including Antares, the scorpion’s bright orange heart. But the stars are only loosely bound together, so they’re moving apart -- spreading their brilliance across the galaxy.  Script by Damond Benningfield Support McDonald Observatory

The scorpion has a potent stinger -- a pair of bright stars at the tip of its curving body. They’re low in the southern sky as night falls, with the rest of Scorpius curling to their upper right. The brighter star in the stinger is known as Lambda Scorpii. It’s the second-brightest star in Scorpius, so it’s hard to miss. Fainter Upsilon Scorpii stands close to its right. Lambda actually consists of three stars. The main star is more than 10 times as massive as the Sun, so it burns through its nuclear fuel in a hurry. It’ll soon begin to exhaust that supply, so it’ll puff outward. The star will engulf its closer companion, which is only a few million miles away. That may destroy the companion, perhaps sending its core spiraling into the core of the main star. And that may hasten the demise of the main star, which is likely to explode as a supernova. Upsilon is a single star, but it’s also a stunner. It’s about 10 times the Sun’s mass, and many thousands of times its brilliance. Although Lambda and Upsilon appear quite close together, they’re dozens of light-years apart. Even so, the stars are related. They were born from the same giant complex of gas and dust. This region has given birth to many massive stars, including Antares, the scorpion’s bright orange heart. But the stars are only loosely bound together, so they’re moving apart -- spreading their brilliance across the galaxy. Script by Damond Benningfield <a href="http://mcdonaldobservatory.org/support" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Support McDonald Observatory</a>

The Stinger

Billy and gang:
The show views outward from our &#34;rock&#34; are very educational. Thanks!
The shows views and thoughts on our management of our &#34;rock,&#34; earth are solid. 
Thank you and please proceed!
Cheers,
Tim G. Smith

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