Our neighborhood is fairly tight-knit. This is a wonderful thing always, but especially so now. I started to see a flag or two going up in front of houses this past weekend, and I loved the idea, so I put ours out too. Slowly other houses are following suit. What more appropriate time to fly the flag of this great country of ours?
I’ve heard lots of stories of other neighborhoods, too - Little Free Libraries are being filled with toilet paper and canned goods, spontaneous neighborhood musical interludes are happening in the street. I cannot believe the amount of new-to-me people walking by the yard when I’m working outside. Folks seem hungry to get outdoors, to get some fresh air, to get some exercise, to get away from the screens. A couple of kids I’ve never seen before zoomed by on bikes, the youngest hollering “I love your garden!” What kid says that, in normal times?
Neighbors call or write, asking if we need anything. Old friends start group texts. Tom’s family has instituted a weekly Zoom session to keep in touch. I speak to friends on the phone for hours, something I haven’t done since high school.
Classmates (online) seem friendlier. We help each other out, sharing materials we’ve missed somehow. The kids’ principal has started sending video updates instead of emails. Some of the kids’ teachers are making very entertaining online learning videos. My neighbor who teaches first grade has made videos of herself reading books, stopping at appropriate places and saying, “Ok, what do YOU think happens next? Write that in your journal!” I’m amazed by the creativity of teachers and friends and families.
Who knew, in this disconnected world, that these are all still essential services?
Nature, too - essential. I’ve somehow gotten connected with a group on twitter called @gardenshour, in the UK. Every Monday at 2 pm Pacific Time (is that 10 pm in England?), gardeners share something interesting, a new bloom or a pile of manure, a hawk getting into a chicken coop, or a greenhouse getting ready for planting. I’ve come to really appreciate that hour.
The parks and open spaces and national seashores around here were packed this weekend, causing some to close. This is a shame, because the interest to be outdoors and in nature has completely revitalized. Somehow we have to strike a balance between isolation and the ability to get outdoors.
Speaking of essential, is anyone else appreciating their spouses in a new way? It’s a very strange thing to hear your partner in ‘work’ mode. I am so amazed by how many plates Tom has spinning and how downright cheerful he is anyway. He never sounds panicked or stressed. Focused, yes. I’ve found I like overhearing his work calls and meetings.
This morning our local paper (SF Chronicle) published a poem by a local poet, Jane Hirshfield., about sheltering-in-place. I loved it, and so I’ve included it here.
“Today, when I could do nothing,
I saved an ant.
It must have come in with the morning paper,
still being delivered
to those who shelter in place.
A morning paper is still an essential service.
I am not an essential service.
I have coffee and books,
time,
a garden,
silence enough to fill cisterns.
It must have first walked
the morning paper, as if loosened ink
taking the shape of an ant.
Then across the laptop computer — warm —
then onto the back of a cushion.
Small black ant, alone,
crossing a navy cushion,
moving steadily because that is what it could do.
Set outside in the sun,
it could not have found again its nest.
What then did I save?
It did not move as if it was frightened,
even while walking my hand,
which moved it through swiftness and air.
Ant, alone, without companions,
whose ant-heart I could not fathom—
how is your life, I wanted to ask.
I lifted it, took it outside.
This first day when I could do nothing,
contribute nothing
beyond staying distant from my own kind,
I did this.”