A Blind Eye View: Blind Alamogordans Explore Space Through Touch and Sound

The idea of stargazing as a blind person might sound improbable, if not altogether impossible. But, believe it or not, it's a thing. My fellow members of the Otero NAACP asked me to do a presentation on a gathering of blind eclipse viewers at the New Mexico Museum of Space History earlier this year and asked how a blind person participates in astronomy. I am certainly no expert, but I can share my experience with the eclipse viewing at the museum and with non-visual astronomy in general.

I recall attending astronomy classes in middle school and feeling frustrated by the inaccessibility of the stars. Certainly, I could learn facts about planets and stellar chemistry. But understanding constellations, building a mental model of the solar system, and experiencing that felt sense of connection to ancient knowledge were all lost to me. At the time, I felt cheated, experiencing a sense of intense FOMO about something people seemed genuinely excited about, yet it was simply understood that, of course, there would be insurmountable problems with my participation in that class.

In my twenties, I was lucky enough to participate in the National Federation of the Blind's Youth Slam initiative, a week-long camp in Baltimore that presented STEM education and activities in an accessible manner. The first Youth Slam was held in 2007 and the second in 2009, and there have been several since. I served as a mentor both times I attended, working alongside three teens in STEM classes and activities, providing one-on-one instruction and modeling blindness skills while science educators focused on the curriculum. I was in the astronomy track both years, and by then, astronomy education and technology had come a long way. For the first time, I could quite literally "see" the stars!

The second year I attended Youth Slam, I sat on a lawn under the stars, listening to a camera snapping pictures of the sky. Those images were rushed to a swell-form printer and returned within five to ten minutes, giving me a nearly real-time tactile view of star placement and brightness. The more prominent the swell-form star, the brighter it was in the sky. Hands down, that remains one of my favorite memories.

That same year, the astronomy educators introduced constellation tents—large dome-shaped camping tents transformed into tactile constellation maps with braille labels. They featured tack-like dots to signify different types of stars and something like zip-tie plastic to form the constellation shapes. The higher up inside the tent, the closer the constellation was to the zenith, or the highest point in the night sky. One tent was for the summer sky in the northern hemisphere, and the second tent was for the winter sky. Those tents conveyed to me what star charts couldn’t back in middle school, and for once, FOMO was relieved.

I’m lucky to live in Alamogordo, a community with a rich history and a lively interest in astronomy! We’re also geographically lucky, positioned perfectly for observing astronomical phenomena like partial, and sometimes nearly total, solar eclipses. Last October, I was outside when the sun was most covered by the moon. I felt the near-sunset warmth on my skin, the sudden coldness of the wind, heard the quieting of the birds, and felt the anticipation of others observing the sky. I recorded and broadcasted my observations as I completed a fundraising walk for an accessible athletics organization I’m a part of. That experience was thrilling, but my awe was taken to a new level when I participated in an event at the space museum for the April 8 solar eclipse, arranged by the school for the blind.

Professionally, I work for the New Mexico Commission for the Blind Orientation Center. One of our students heard about a piece of technology called the LightSound. It turned out the school for the blind had one and planned to use it at the museum so their students could have an accessible eclipse experience. The LightSound works like an audible light detector: the brighter the light, the higher the pitch of the sound. The device, about the size of a small paperback, has a small aperture that faces the sun. As the lunar disk eclipses the sun, the pitch decreases. While it doesn’t convey the shape of the eclipse or how much of the sun is covered, there are other tools for that.

One such tool is a phone app called Eclipse Soundscapes, which includes statistical information about current eclipses, an eclipse timeline, and audio education. It also has rumble maps, or pictures of eclipses paired with sound, where touching different parts of the picture produces different sounds. This helps create a spatial mental picture of eclipse phases, though the app demonstrates a total solar eclipse rather than what someone might see from any specific location. For a blind stargazer to experience a localized eclipse visually, they’d need a telescope with light filters, a camera, and a tactile printer setup like the one I encountered at Youth Slam. The museum likely used a camera with a telescope, but I doubt they had a tactile printer. Fortunately, a sighted person with eclipse glasses and a simple model works well in a pinch.

Jeff Killebrew, the science teacher at NMSBVI, and his team made simple eclipse models for their students: a spiky paper sun with a soft felt center and a glitter-covered paper moon, connected by large tongue-depressor sticks and a brad. The model allowed the lunar disk to move over the sun and align with the eclipse’s shape. I used one to get a real-time feel for the sun-moon relationship and walked around showing it to other attendees.

I can’t speak for other blind attendees, but the experience was both exciting and profoundly beautiful in its simplicity. We sat under the sun, listening to the LightSound as the clouds and moon passed overhead. I felt the awe of shared experience as my fellow blind participants observed and commented on what they perceived. Meanwhile, I showed images from the Eclipse Soundscapes app and Jeff Killebrew’s models. Simple though the accommodations were, the experience was remarkable, as awe-inspiring as my first encounter with the stars.

Adding to the experience was the presence of Levi Heisinger, an astronomy enthusiast working for the space museum. Levi reminded me of Noreen Grice, founder of You Can Do Astronomy LLC, who also became interested in accessible astronomy through her work at a planetarium. Like her, Levi was passionate about making astronomy accessible for the blind. He served as our LightSound technician and one of our on-site educators, bringing tactile prints of constellations labeled with dots and connecting lines. I listened as Levi shared stories of constellations and myths with NMSBVI students, clearly enjoying himself, and it was a pleasure to witness.

The stars have fascinated humanity for ages, and I’m grateful to be included in that fascination. I’ve been lucky enough to “see” stars, witness eclipses, and spend time with people like Noreen, Levi, and Jeff, who believe astronomy belongs to all of us, including the blind. I’m thankful to the NMSBVI and space museum teams for welcoming the Orientation Center students and me to the April 8 eclipse event. It’s my hope that, when a natural wonder like an eclipse happens, you’ll take a moment to appreciate it, knowing that somewhere in Alamogordo, a blind person is appreciating it alongside you. But until then, remember to stay well and
Alamogorgeous!

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