We’ve had several very dreary days in succession, and today’s weather forecast shows six calendar squares filled with an image of a grey cloud dripping with rain. . . I suppose, given all the hand-washing we’re supposed to be doing, we need all the reservoirs topped up. Silver linings and all that.
But I’m thinking nostalgically all the way to last weekend, when we actually took the covers off the outdoor furniture and sat on the terrace for a bit to read (yes, blankets wrapped around us, but still. . . when the sun shone, it felt much warmer than the 11 degrees Celsius which is about as high as it’s been getting.
Warm enough and sunny enough to coax buds into opening, leaves into unfurling . . . and you know it doesn’t take much to coax my iphone and I to start snapping photos. . .
And since there are really too many to post on Instagram, I’m afraid I’m foisting them on you here.
And should they stir your gardener’s soul at all, or evoke a wish for more botanical images, our correspondent from the north of Scotland, Linda B. has generously directed us toward a delightful exhibition of (British) Garden Art between 1919-1939, the period between the Wars. While the exhibition in London has had to be postponed until late fall due to Covid-19, the Garden Museum has made the entire catalogue of the show available. You might enjoy browsing through the artwork and accompanying essays.
Otherwise, I hope all is well with you, that you’ve comfortable shelter, that you feel secure, that you aren’t feeling too isolated, that you have activities that engage you. As much as many of us are using this time to slow down, to return to simpler pleasures, to deepen relationships, etc., I know that there are many suffering financially, business or homes at risk; many tolerating difficult domestic arrangements in order to maintain “shelter”; many worrying about vulnerable loved ones they are now unable to visit; many with serious health concerns that preceded this pandemic, concerns that have been made more difficult by postponed surgeries or anxiety about vital supplies. . . .
And then there are the extroverts. I suspect that most of the talk about the quiet blessings of this time of Just Staying Home comes from introverts, like myself. Not so easy if one has a personality that thrives best in a social milieu. And very tough, as well, for those who crave forest paths and mountainsides, but are living in places like Italy, where my daughter and son-in-law are allowed to exercise outside now — as long as it’s within 200 metres of home. . . Oh, and if you’re living with an active Five who hasn’t seen, never mind played with, another kid for four weeks, that’s tough too. That’s my Italian crew I’m speaking of again, but anyone who’s home with young kids. . .
Even more so if you’re at home with kids as a single parent and/or in tight quarters without any direct access to outside space.
Hmmm. . . .
I hadn’t expected to wax negative. I do find myself balking lately, though, at what can seem a blithe insistence on all the good to come from Covid-19, social solidarity, compassion, appreciation for our healthcare providers, innovation, time with family, quieter streets, clearer skies, cleaner waters, reduced CO2 emissions, etc. Not that I haven’t observed, nor that I don’t appreciate those side effects, and I’m all for finding the silver linings in the clouds (see above, re rain). It’s just that I know my ability to observe and appreciate them owes much to privilege and good fortune, and that for those without either, the conversation must add insult to injury. I find it unseemly, to be honest, premature. Especially as this virus moves more aggressively into the Southern Hemisphere, through the developing world where healthcare and food supply chains are so much more fragile, and Wash Your Hands is more a taunt than helpful advice.
Not sure now how I can pull this post back into the realm of a Spring Garden.
But that reconciliation is at once a recurrent impossibility and an insistent demand for me. I suspect it is so for many of you as well.
I do have comfortable shelter with beautiful spring blooms just outside my door, and I am going to rejoice in those and take comfort and solace from them, share it when I can. I’m going to knit and read and write and cook favourite dishes and practice yoga and workout virtually with my trainer and make the most of this time of Social Distancing or Sheltering in Place or Self-Isolation or whatever we’re calling it. And this will continue to be a fairly rich time for me, hunkered down with my husband, a compatible, supportive, interesting person whose company I enjoy.
But I also want to leave space for those of us who are experiencing this time very differently, as a time of serious, even extreme, threat, of urgent vulnerability. I don’t want my expressed contentment to silence or shame or anger those of you already suffering or struggling.
No solutions, for now, except for holding this space of acknowledgement open.
Oh, and I bet many of you are doing this already, but as we settle into newly organized homes and schedules, you might be finding, as my husband and I are, that these new patterns mean we’re spending less than usual. Fortunately, there are food banks in my community and in yours that are willing to help us with any extra cash. . . So many worthy organizations, as well, ramping up efforts to help meet the monumental needs as Covid-19 moves into the developing world. . . And small businesses in all our neighbourhoods finding ways to market and distribute online. . . I ordered yarn for a new knitting project yesterday, the transaction accomplished through emails, photographs exchanged electronically, and several phone calls. Not the “instant gratification” of walking into a shop and walking out with cakes of yarn, but a very satisfying local connection, and for once, my retail consumption felt practically virtuous.
These euphorbia, growing in the courtyard of our complex, so cheerfully, optimistically Spring-green when Pater and I headed out for a bike ride last Saturday — and now serving as a rather forced wrap-up to what is probably an awkward post. I won’t lie; my little finger has hovered over the Delete key a few times in the last few minutes. If I’ve pulled it back each time, it’s not only out of reluctance to erase an hour’s work. It’s also because this kind of Thinking Out Loud, as vulnerable and uncomfortable and exposed as it leaves me, engages me. The challenge of articulating my contentments and discomforts compels me; even more, the hope that something I write might resonate with one, some, any of you, and that we will connect through our similarities or differences of opinion. . . .
Meanwhile, before I was able to click “Publish,” the phone rang beginning a What’sApp video call connecting three of our four families (the one with the Eleven was probably still sleeping, making the others a bit envious, I suspect). Rome joined Victoria, joined Vancouver to wish a Five a very Happy Birthday, trying to make up for his disappointment that he couldn’t have a party. What a chaotic and joyous video connection that was!
So if you have time to comment below, I welcome your responses to the flower photos (or museum visit, thank you Linda) or to any of my thoughts about life in these pandemic times or about whether Zoom or WhatsApp or FaceTime is bringing your friends and family together. Open mic below — have at it!
xo,
f
Your rooftop garden is lovely and those magnolia flowers are very much like the ones that we have blooming out in front of The Humble Bungalow.
I am so grateful for the internet and modern technology which helps us stay connected with our friends and family.
I'd love to see more of your new yarn and knitting pattern that you ordered when it arrives!
Take care,
Leslie
So beautiful, so peaceful, so full of promise. And yes I am an introvert happy to stay home and yet at the same time realizing more than previously how necessary companionship, community, and even touch is to our well-being. Thank goodness for modern technology which allows us to stay connected.
What a lovely garden. It's still quite chilly in Toronto although today is lovely. I've tidied the shed and will soon tackle the garden. It's such a strange time, but a good time for getting organized. Take care. Xx
I have seen euphorbia (love the name!) around and thought it was a weed, rather guiltily because I also thought it was beautiful.
In 2009–more than a decade ago!!!–I talked to epidemiologist Larry Brillant, who warned that our destruction of wilderness would lead to more pandemics (than what turned out to be the vaccine-able H1N1 flu). We are sleeping in the bed we made. I fear the reaction to Covid-19 will be that the rich, well, anybody who can afford it to different degrees, will try to move out of cities to more remote places, and they will not accept that wild animals are neighbors and they will further destroy the environment.
The lockdowns are hard for everybody but I worry most about our kid, psychologically and physically and emotionally. Things are not good.
Meanwhile, husband has metastatic cancer, so I am the interface with the world for shopping, etc. I like to think I am tough, but I am not that young….it is terrifying. All of it.
Thanks so much Frances & Linda for the garden art catalogue . I shall lose myself in that . Those Euphorbias too , one of my favourites . I love the way they hop around , in a well mannered way , & find where they want to be in the garden . A very independent plant . Such an odd world now even for we introverts , who when told we mustn’t go out , perversely feel we want to . My sister has set her self isolated mum-in-law up on the internet & she’s now enjoying regular chats with her grandchildren in the Middle East & Australia etc – quite a step for a 90 year old & she’s loving it . I’m trying not to think of the likely dreadful onward march of this virus or the after effects for everyone but it’s not easy . It helps to watch the young children next door letting off steam in their garden then playing word games over the hedge with them . Small pleasures just now . More important than ever .
Wendy in York
Taste of France, I am incredibly sad to hear of your real fears with your hysband's and son's vulnerabilities, making your worries about this time more intense because of their distinct situations.
I am thinking of you here in London, just wanted you to know that.
A.in London
I am so appreciative of this thoughtful post. It is good to be reminded that it’s not all pancake breakfasts and midday Netflix in our sweatpants. It’s good to appreciate silver linings, but also to realize that our privileged accident of births do not extend to everyone. Just listened to an interview with an Emergency doctor in Spain, and it was very sobering. Not enough gloves to change between patients, not enough equipment, medications and no ambulance transport from seniors homes, because, they’re not going to be treated, in most cases. In her words “we have nothing”. So far, we have everything. That being said, exciting to visit with all the grandchildren online! A real day-maker.
My thoughts have occasionally wandered to your family in Italy, hoping that they are well. Glad to hear that things are lightening up for them a bit and that you were able to get the family together through technology.
Between your discussion of fixing your socks and a long conversation with a childhood friend, I thought, "Hey, I love to sew. I should start that up again." Remembering that my daughter told me that her college friend now works for a homeless shelter and that there were few supplies to protect the staff, I decided to make face masks for her. I checked out You Tube videos, pulled out and washed fabric leftover from long ago projects, and began sewing. I shipped out the first collection to the shelter this afternoon only to hear that my daughter's friend had been exposed and was now self-isolating. I hope the staff who is still working will respond to my note. I will keep making masks until they tell me to stop.
School has been canceled for the rest of the year and I worry about all my former students for whom school was the calm in the storm of their lives. They are still being fed-lunches and the next day's breakfast are available at the school or delivered through bus routes but they are still trying to figure out how to send home food for the weekends. The weekend backpack program ended with the closing of the school and the summer food trucks haven't geared up yet. Thankfully our governor directed each school district had to create a plan for special needs students and the children of first responders and medical professionals. That is now in place.
Still snow on the ground so no flowers yet. But the sap is flowing and the sugar maker is in his sugar house making gallons of the sweet stuff, and oh, it is as light as champagne!
Thanks, Frances, for your invitation to chime in. You (and perhaps other readers) are very patient with my long-windedness. Carol in VT
Hi, I an from the North of Scotland, coukd you connect me or give blog title for Linda B please?
Very in touch with your conflicted feelings about life at the moment. Gratitude for a warm home, a safe place, technology to connect with family and enough food. And for being an introvert. But fears for the very folks you mention who already had more than enough to worry about before the virus shut down the world. Stay safe.
I too share your asperity re the "silver lining" comments about finally slowing down, and for me there is also my disgust at the special offers flooding my inbox that promise to improve my life now, if I by a new bathrobe or skin treatment.
MY DIL sent the text of an interview she conducted with my 4 yr old grandson, and one of the items was "I feel happy when…". His answer was, "When you smile at me." That lifted my heart. She and my son are great parents even though the stress at home- an interrupted nearly-finished degree so therefore no job that was to have started in May- is the new reality.
Huge credit to parents—including your kids—who are holding it together.
Glad the Garden Museum post is of interest. Elizabeth – hello to a fellow Northern Scot! I am not blogging at the moment, but I had two blogs at occasionalscotland.blogspot.com and slowgrowinginscotland.blogspot.com. At that time I was living in Edinburgh, but moved back to Speyside where I grew up a couple of years ago. I'm now on Instagram as @occasionalscotland.
Frances, I think your wandering subject post is very redolent of the difficulty many of us are feeling about concentrating or settling on any one thing for long. Small businesses are in our minds just now. Many here are responding creatively and helping the community with food deliveries. We are trying to use these as much as possible, as the supermarket chains are making going to make billions from this. The wonderful Indian restaurant in our nearby market town had to close of course, but used its food stocks not to make money for itself but to cook and deliver meals to key workers including NHS staff at the local hospital. Kudos to them.
For myself, I feel as if I'm in an episode of Frontier House – anyone remember that amazing series on PBS? Made more acute because we're mid house renovation, and of course the builders left suddenly last week when lockdown was announced. Luckily we asked them to hold off opening up the roof and demolishing the chimney, scheduled for the day before….So we have a temporary kitchen in a bathroom, a single hotplate and a gas camping stove…Daily living is basic. I spend my days planning how to get food, watching what food we have like a hawk, cooking, digging the garden with a view to growing as much produce as I can, planning sowing and growing, and fall into bed tired out. I seem to have no time to take advantage of all the sudden explosion of online content, and I certainly don't need PE with Joe on YouTube, aimed at the nation's school kids but which much of the UK is now doing. Another good thing – Joe is donating all advertising revenue from the huge viewing figures for these videos to the NHS.
Hugs to you and family.
I must say that,confronted with all the evils we all are, and the earthquake (and more than 100 little ones afterwards) that had destroyed more thav we've thought at first,a lot of people lost their homes temporarily or forever ,people are warned even not to walk through the centre,more than necessary,thinking about all the doctors and nurses and all the brave people helping….reading and hearing all of your stories and thinking about our community here and your dearest…..I'm perfectly fine (although sometimes F.I.N.E.-for the Louise Penny readers…..),I'm used to stay completely at home now,no walking,no grocery buying…..happy to look through the open window,to watch my magnolia and cedar….
Take care,stay healthy,find activities that will soothe and nourish your souls…..there will be tomorrow eventually
Dottoressa
Sitting on the sofa in front of the fire, listening to the wind and rain, my feet covered by a crocheted blanket made by my mum, and waiting for my sister to call me back. Her husband has Alzheimer’s and now pneumonia, she thinks. She’s worried about him and I worry about her. She’s been working long long hours at her drug store, and at our age fatigue makes us so much more vulnerable to any virus, let alone this one. If my nose isn’t buried in a book or occupied with some frivolous subject for my own blog I find myself feeling guilty for my relative safety and security. But like you mention, now is the time to shift our extra cash to food banks and other charities that will help those more vulnerable than we are, and for me that means increasing my donations to the Ottawa Mission. Take care, everyone. Thanks for the wise words, Dottoressa. ❤️
Last week we had warm, balmy weather. I emptied pots – no blooms, just green leaves, soil too cold and wet – swept and tidied, moved a chair into the sunniest spot. Then sat back and enjoyed it all. It takes a while to accept there is no urgency. Then the weather changed and I woke to snow flurries yesterday. But I have tomato seedlings leaping into life, there are nasturtium seeds pushed into compost and foxgloves transplanted. Even if we have to shut ourselves away, all these will thrive. There will be insects and bees and butterflies and the wisteria is getting ready to burst into flower. For the moment, this will have to do and it is plenty. I give thanks each day that we are healthy, our kids are safe, we are all in touch and the jokes are funny. If doing my bit means staying put, I will gladly do it. The cat is delighted.
Taste of France: I'm so sorry you've got the challenges of strict lockdown and all the attendant worries of Covid-19 while you already have the anxiety and sadness over your husband's cancer. Hard to be tough all the time. . . hope you can manage to take care of you as well some of the time.
Wendy: Delightful drone's-eye view of you playing word games with the neighbou children over the hedge. Thank you!
Anon at 3:16: Yes, so much . . . but the virtual family gathering was a beautiful distraction.
Carol in VT: You've found a good way to help — I've thought of hauling up my sewing machine from storage but not sure what fabric I'd use. . . . Your comment is beautifully balanced, acknowledging the darker corners, then finding a way to help, and then that sweetness at the end, but not cloyingly so. . . Thank you!
Elizabeth: I see Linda has answered you. . .
Mary: Yes, this is exactly it. Too many folks were all barely treading water as it was. . .
Duchesse: What a heart-warming anecdote! (and I appreciate having my asperity validated 😉
Linda B: Wow! I'm thinking of our major (house lifted, one whole wall opened to the outside for two-storey addition ) renovation being paused mid-stream for an indefinite shutdown during which we were expected to live inside it. That's a challenge, but seems to me you're the couple for that challenge. I'm so glad for you that you're (mostly) out of winter now. . . .
Dottoressa: I'm so sorry for your beautiful city, relieved that you, my friend, are well sheltered with beautiful trees outside your window. And thank you for your wise words.
Sue Burpee: What a weight your sister is carrying. And how hard for you not to be able to carry any of it for her. And of course you shouldn't feel guilty for your own safety and security and of course, being you, you do. . . But keeping ourselves uninfected and not making more demands on the system IS a contribution right now, and donating what we can to places that help others do the same, as you have. Take care.