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.

Lockdown 2.0

 

It’s setting day – the most wonderful and sometimes terrible day of the year. The boats will head out and launch pots into the sea and lift them tomorrow to find what waits.

 

I never feel so proud as when I see my cousin out on the water, knowing that this is what my family has been doing along this coast for over 200 years. That connection to the land and the sea is what I missed when I lived away for so many years.

 

It’s good to have lived in a place long enough that you know the daffodils are early this year, to know that the catch is more abundant than usual, and that a hillside once clear cut has regenerated over the past 25 years; it’s good to live in a place long enough to see babies grow into men and women.

 

This is where half my heart is today, the other is in reflection on our recent re-entry into lockdown. This province has done amazingly well; we’ve all been bragging about the safety of these shores throughout the last year. And that message took root. People from all over the country decided that Nova Scotia would be the best place to weather the storm of the pandemic and bought up almost every piece of property they could find—pushing housing prices through the roof- relatively speaking.

 

The pandemic has in some ways been extremely good for Nova Scotia – it’s increased our population and is bringing in new blood -- families and professionals -- to our small villages and towns. Because people, rightfully so, want to get away from crowed streets and townhouses with postage stamp yards. People want the wide-open spaces where the virus is unlikely to find them. Where you can still ramble outside without seeing another potentially infected soul. That place is here, right here in the remote, often overlooked, eastern tip of this province.

 

But the remoteness of this place is a mirage, driving to the city for the weekend or the day is not unheard of now. It’s not the once in a blue moon event it used to be when I was a child. Forty-five years ago, I don’t remember ever going to the city of Halifax for fun—we went for hospital stays at the IWK Children’s Hospital and doctors’ visits—never for shopping and museum visits as I do with my own children.  

 

If we were still as remote as we were back then, the province-wide shut down would make little sense—but these days –anyone from any part of the province could be anywhere. And are. There’s shopping; you can’t buy much in this small village and have to go to a bigger area to buy most things beyond groceries. There’re sports; many youths in rural communities belong to teams that are based in other areas of the province and travel beyond the confines of home base for tournaments. And there’s family; not very many people live in the small rural areas where they started off—they come home from the city to visit, attend weddings and funerals. We are a province where ‘home community’ casts a wide geographic net.

 

Hence lockdown; everywhere.

 

My experience of lockdown last year, and currently, has been very good. And I feel guilty about that. I was looking forward to having the kids home again all the time. I like to see them more but I have to admit the main reason I wanted them home was so I could do this; write.

 

Strange to say, but with the kids at home I will get more alone time, shut up in my office. We recently got a new puppy, and his presence has changed our lives more than the pandemic.

 

We now get up at 6 a.m. -- not easy for two teens—to answer his cries. I had to move my workstation from my office upstairs to the open area of the living room where the puppy spends his days. And walks are more frequent, no matter the weather.

 

We split our days of doggy duty but with the kids in school- that meant I had the full school day looking after the little fluff ball. Hard to concentration on writing while keeping a watchful eye on the pup.

 

With the kids at home, I get to move back to my office and sequester myself in this space with my “working” sign on the door.  It feels a bit like heaven to have this time back.

 

And I don’t have to run to the store for every little thing anymore. I am back to a once-a-week shop. The kids can’t ask me to go and pick up this or that—they have to be patient and write it on the grocery list. They have to make do with what is in the cupboard. That cuts down on lots of lost time in the day that had been stolen by ‘quick’ trips to the store. It’s also probably healthier as I can’t make a run to the store for ice cream, chips or cookies when the craving strikes.

 

Now, once again, I can only work from home. No driving to events or to meet people for interviews. This also frees up a lot of time.

 

And it is spring; the weather has been good—so good I think we are going to have to start mowing the grass soon. Some people already have. The early spring means we can still visit the grandparents –outside and are not stuck in the house with nothing to do.

 

For me, I can guiltily say, the third wave lockdown, is a welcome break. The beginning of the first lockdown was the least stressed I have been in ages—I felt better than I had in years.

 

But for many people this will be a challenge. Regular health care is disrupted—they’ve stopped regular blood collection in this area due to all the COVID-19 testing they have to do. Elective surgery will be pushed back again. And many workplaces have closed-leaving employees jobless for the time being.

 

Families with young children are hit especially hard. Parents have to run homeschool again and deal with kids who would rather be out seeing friends and doing all their regular activities. But most of all, child care—whose going to take care of these children if the parents are still working? That is still a circle that can’t be squared. It can’t be the grandparents which is the typical fall-back position. So who? Nobody but you—so there goes work, there goes money. Lockdown is extremely tough for parents of young children.

 

I know how difficult and necessary it is to work as a parent with young children and that is why I feel so guilty for welcoming this lockdown as a respite from the world. I know this is a crushing situation for them.

 

And that leads me back to setting day. In this neck of the woods lots of fishermen have young families—so now when both parents are needed at home as much as possible—they’re operating one-short. This couldn’t have happened at a worse time for fishing families. But like everything else, these parents will make it work but with difficulty and stress.

 

I am ready for the third wave. I have noise cancelling headphones, pay coming in, and freedom to roam the woods and beaches. I wish all could be so lucky.

Fantastic find in Sherbrooke

On Monday I had the good fortune of heading down to Sherbrooke, Nova Scotia to report on a council meeting. I arrived early and took a little walk around.

The first thing I focused on was this brightly coloured bridge that stood out so nicely against our last snow fall.

I stopped into the library to say hello. I worked there last spring teaching computer classes.

Carried on and shot the Post Office. In this area of Nova Scotia we have these lovely Post Offices in most small towns and villages, all built in the early 1900s.

It was a cold and windy day. Hopefully winter's last kick, but I doubt it. I was excited to see someone outside. I asked if I could take his picture and he was more than happy to oblige.

I inquired further and discovered that he and his friends were recording an album in the studio hidden within the unassuming St. Mary's River Lodge.

I was invited inside and got to see this trio of local High School students at work on a dream.

The inaptly named band, The Inadequacies.

I was thrilled to meet these young people and find art in the making on a cold winter day. There is art all around us here in these small communities. Some times it is hidden in the High School kid doodling in their scribbler at the back of the class and sometimes it is in a room at the top of the stairs of an unimposing looking country inn.

In the small village where I live, population 992, on my street alone we have Emmy Alcorn; the artistic director of a theater company who is also a singer/song writer, Jess and Greg, two singer songwriters and myself; a writer. There is talent here everywhere you look and it is inspiring to see these young people starting out artistically.

After a tour of the recording studio I headed out again into the cold afternoon and took a few more shots around town before heading into the the council meeting.

Sherbrooke Coffee shop,The Village Coffee Grind, where I would like to while away the hours.

The 'Old' Sherbrooke Village, which is the tourism draw of this quaint little spot.

It's amazing where life will lead you when you ask a few questions.