Observatory opens to the sky

After months of preparation, trips to the hardware store, more than a few late-night YouTube tutorials, and a memorable encounter with a Middlemarch nor’wester that sent all hundred kilograms of my first roof cartwheeling more than 30m across my paddock, I’m delighted to report that my dream has finally taken shape.

I’m now the proud owner of an observatory.

It sits out there now, squat and sturdy, in a corner of a Middlemarch field where the sky still feels wild and the view is to die for.

I am pleased to report that the roof rolls off smoothly, powered by a garage door opener that makes a satisfyingly industrial clunk when it opens and closes. A Dunedin firm helped with the design, and after a few hard-earned lessons in wind dynamics, we seem to have got it right.

Last week, I experienced first light, that magical moment when a telescope in a new home gets to do what it was made for. As the sky faded to velvet, I aligned the mount to the south celestial pole, checked the cables, took a deep breath, and aimed upwards.

One after another, the familiar jewels of the southern sky appeared on my screen - Canopus and Achernar, the Magellanic Clouds smeared like silver brushstrokes across the darkness, the Tarantula Nebula quietly flexing its luminous muscles in the Large Cloud.

Inside the warm room I’d built - a refuge against frosty nights - my coffee sat untouched. At 2am, I was lying flat on the floor of the observatory, staring up through the gap in the roof, entranced by the raw, unfiltered night sky and the whispering glow of our galaxy.

It was quiet, cold, and absolutely perfect.

And now, I face the pleasant dilemma of every new parent: what to name this latest arrival - something fitting, something that speaks to Middlemarch and the sky above it.

I’m open to suggestions - if you’ve got an idea for a name, drop me a line. The only rule is that it must sound good echoing across a frosty paddock at midnight.