Shelter in Place

My “Oh no” moment was when I learned how sparse and delayed the tests for coronavirus were. At the time, only a couple dozen cases had been reported in the U.S., but the lack of testing implied the real number would be much higher, and worse, its casualties were unknown.

We all know how the story has progressed since then. The number of those infected rises exponentially and the most economically vulnerable are scrambling to keep their head above water in the fallout.

Lauren and I look at each other these days and talk about how grateful we are to be healthy and solvent. I can easily work from home, and we are not in danger of having our electricity turned off. We don’t have to worry about being dispossessed of our home.

And springtime in our garden is a wonderful time to be sheltered in place.

We don’t need to be told to stay home. We love playing in the dirt, tending to our seedlings, and watching the ducks rip through the flowery meadow of our backyard. Each day, it seems, a new tree is leafing out.

Preparing garden beds is hard, physical work. It’s always been a mystery to me how best to turn grass into a cleared bed ready for planting. And it’s still a mystery. But somehow, after hours of shoveling through stringy roots, crumbling clods of clay into something more manageable, and massaging compost into the dirt, a few square feet of cleared ground emerge from the construction site. Into these “beds” we carefully tuck our waif-like seedlings of peas, kale, cabbage, and broccoli, or sprinkle in a flower seed mix.

What we’re left with is a front yard strewn with mud, topped with cardboard (in an ineffective attempt to smother the grass), with compost and mulch piled up in small pockets like a field of prairie dogs. Move to the back and you’ll find more chaos. A minefield of duck poop. A swampy morass passing as a pond. More cardboard and leaves scattered haphazardly. And eight birds squawking and flapping around.

Yes, the neighbors are talking. Most of them in the tones and with the vulgar language you’d expect. But some, trust us, have been caught saying, and I quote, “I like what you guys are doing.” Us! This mess! They like it! We like it too.

We’ve hit that critical mass where each day we paw at the ground and plant something that won’t look impressive for another few months (if ever), but hey, look over there, there’s that thing we planted a few months ago that’s starting to come into its own. The mints are alive. The oregano has fluffed up impressively. The lemon balm is taking over. The fennel, anise hyssop, strawberries, and rhubarb are showing signs of life. The peas are crawling toward the fence. Last year’s brassicas are bolting for the sky. A breeze encourages the hyacinth’s fragrance to visit us while we work. And inside, our seedling tomatoes, peppers, sweet potatoes, eggplants, and basils grow by the hour.

What’s that? Yes, you read that correctly a few paragraphs ago. Eight birds.

Since we last posted, we’ve welcomed four hens to our urban homestead. Our housemates, Katharine and Zakey, hustled to build a fortress against predators after picking up four golden comet hens. They named the coop “The Hen Chalet”. Get it? The hen shall-lay?

Ok, so it wasn’t all smooth sailing. But the kinks have been worked out and the twelve of us are getting along royally. Already, the four hens have been laying two or three eggs each day.

If I weren’t online, and if it weren’t for our occasional grocery runs to supplement our one-radish-per-week harvest, I don’t think we’d notice this very serious pandemic. And for that, we are exceedingly lucky.

In her book, A Paradise Built in Hell, Rebecca Solnit tells stories of communities coming together during disasters. The most trying times have a funny way of bringing out the kind of social cohesion that many of us yearn for during normal times. This pandemic feels so disorienting because it expressly forbids our natural responses toward social togetherness during disasters. The more I engage with those in need, the more I put them at risk. The best thing I can do for everyone is… to stay away from them.

Nevertheless, spatial distancing can’t keep us apart. I have caught up with folks who I haven’t talked to in months or years. We’ve introduced curious neighbors (from ten feet away) to our feathered friends. A friend told me that her 17-year-old daughter is engaging with her for the first time in two years. The New York Times podcast reported that “The internet has become kinder” with Solnit’s Paradise moving to the virtual.

I hope this finds you well. And please, call us if you are feeling scared or lonely or bored or just want to catch up. Let’s use this extraordinary time to allow our priorities to become recentered.