In 1913, astronomer Vesto Slipher—who, despite his exotic-sounding name, was from Mulberry, Indiana—was studying the light of spiraling nebulae (what were later discovered to be galaxies). He knew that, as celestial objects move away from us, their light gets stretched out, causing it to shift to a different section of the color spectrum– toward the red end. In this phenomenon, called redshift, the appearance of the light depends on the observer and the observed: a celestial object’s light appears redshifted to us, on Earth, because it is moving away from us.
But what wasn’t known—and what astronomers later found out—was that it was not only the movement of galaxies away from us that causes redshift. The universe’s effect on light waves as they thread their way through the cosmos is important as well. The path those galaxies’ light takes to reach us—perhaps as we’re standing in a quiet field in Indiana, the only interruption of light a few lamps from a small town—cannot avoid the pull of our expanding universe.
To picture light waves, think of water shooting out of a garden hose. The water that first comes out of the hose, depending on the force of the stream, lands several feet away from the hose’s mouth. For the moment, ignore the idea of gravity, so your line of water never hits the ground; it just persists as a continuous stream of hydrogen-oxygen molecules.