Scenes from the lockdown

Spring has truly arrived. Trees are unveiling their leaves; the first flowers are in bloom, and the sound of children playing outside echoes through this small village.

This is our second spring in lockdown and while that sounds very bad, an important qualification must be made, we in Nova Scotia have had a mostly covid free summer, fall and winter- with few restrictions. Unfortunately, our case numbers shot up like the early and unexpected daffodils in my flower bed at the end of April. Hence lockdown, again.

 

My lockdown experience looks a lot better than most, due to nice weather and a rural setting. I can walk beaches and ride my bike on wooded trails that practically start at my doorstep. And I live with my most favourite people as well as two very entertaining dogs.

 

It’s only been a couple of weeks, and even with all this goodness, I do feel a little lost. There’s less stopping and chatting with neighbours, no browsing for unnecessary foodstuffs during grocery shopping trips, and no planning for summer vacation.

 

A few scenes from this lockdown have stuck with me, vignettes of contactless life.

 

Last week I was riding my bike on the TransCanada Trail. The section of the trail near my house has long, telescopic views down a tree-lined path. You can’t not see someone coming towards you even when they are a quarter mile away.

 

During lockdown, there is a lot more use of the trail than there has ever been before, especially on sunny days. And everyone, when they meet another trail user moves to one side of the trail to allow for the most possible distance as proscribed by Covid-19 protocols.

 

I was on a bike, with my ducklings (children) riding in single file, as I had taught them, behind me. I could see a woman with a dog walking towards me and I did a shoulder check to make sure that my family was only taking up one side of the trail- leaving lots of space on the other side for the dog walker.

 

The closer I got to the woman and her dog the further apart the canine and human crept. When I less than 10 feet from the pair they were on opposites sides of the trail with a thick blue leash connecting them like an umbilical cord.

 

The woman stopped dead in her tracks and looked as if she had been turned into stone while the dog wandered to the extent his leash would allow.

 

I stopped my bike and waited for her to collect herself and her dog so I could pass. It took her a minute and she muttered a ‘sorry’ as she pulled her dog towards her.

 

I did pity her a bit—who hasn’t had that ‘deer in headlights’ moment. But I also felt a little annoyed. Reflecting on this moment today, I realized that I didn’t know this woman or this dog. That is unusual. This is a very small community and I know all the dogs- most by name. During the lockdown we are not supposed to travel outside of our home communities even if it is to visit parks and hike trails. People have been ticketed and given $2000 fines for such behaviour.

 

Maybe this dog walker had more to be nervous about other than the fact that she was taking up the entire trail.

 

This morning, just back from walking on another trail near home, the shoreline trail, I happened to see a small boy in the front window of his house. He was playing with a dinkie (that’s Nova Scotian for matchbox car) driving it along the window ledge, occasionally making it take wild leaps into the air.

 

The morning sun was warming up the room and I noticed the boy’s mother sitting a little out of the way with a baby in her arms. No place to go but home. Some sweetness in isolation. 

 

Yesterday was another large day, at least in the afternoon, as I was walking my dogs through the village, I passed a young girl bouncing on her trampoline, alone. Across the street, in the back yard of the neighbour’s house, another child was squealing with delight and running around as her grandparents, whom she is living with, sat in the evening sun.

 

Taken separately, these were wonderful scenes, but together, a little sad. These children live within tin can telephone distance away from each other but cannot play together. There is an invisible fence that divides them. I hope it will soon be dismantled.