Essential Services

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.”

— Jane Hirshfield

Spring still arrives

Spring is here, virus be damned. The sun is shining today. The birds sing, hoping to attract a mate. Lizards are in every patch of chilly sun. They don’t startle when I come close. They’ll risk it. So do we, putting on warm coats and sitting with our faces upturned. I brought out the summer seedlings and they grow in front of my eyes. I know because I have time to watch them.

On Tuesday, we were ordered to shelter-in-place. We can only leave our homes for food or medicine. Tom starts the work day in his pj’s. I move some mulch and pull some weeds. The kids work on school assignments. I work on school assignments. I collect eggs from the chickens. Some days we cook dinner with whatever we can find in the garden and at the store. Some days we order take-out, hoping to keep neighborhood restaurants in business. We bake a cake. We dole out our favorite TV shows for the evening’s entertainment. We read books. We check the news twice a day. We write in our collective Pandemic Log.

We meet our neighbors outside in the street, sharing news from six feet away. We put our magazines out into the Little Free Library. We wave to the kids in strollers and on scooters as they go past. I tell them to come eat snap peas and carrots from the garden if they want. I watch the bees in the Forget-Me-Nots. I watch the Bewick’s Wrens make a nest in our telescope. I wait for the mail. Usually it’s junk.

Adam puts up his hair and goes to work at the bakery every day. He works in the back, making pastries and breads, that sell out quickly. The dishwasher is no longer coming to work, so he washes dishes too. They are down to a skeleton crew. Customers come in and pick out what they want, then leave quickly. No one is allowed to linger at the tables in any food establishment. The parking lots are so empty, the cities don’t bother issuing tickets anymore. The highways and bridges are so empty, the Golden Gate Bridge association is seeking government assistance because tolls are down. There is no traffic. The trains and buses have reduced their hours. No one is riding them.

Rin practices the ukulele, which she decided to take up a week ago. She goes with me to the grocery, and together we sigh over the empty shelves. We’ve ordered some canvases and painting supplies and hope they come shortly, so we can try to create. She comes and lays her head on my shoulder when she realizes she won’t be going to rehearsal anymore. Sometimes we make cocoa.

Today our governor said that he expects 56% of Californians to have the virus by June. The amount of cases here rises frightfully fast. My brother called and told me to wear a mask when I go out. I take eggs to an elderly neighbor and he hugs me before I can stop him. I wonder if I’m making other people sick. We think about getting a kitten, because we need one, but the shelters are closed for adoptions.

We wash our hands. We use the hand sanitizer my friend Buddy sent us from Missouri, when I couldn’t find any. I hope he can find some when he needs some. I text my friends. We make jokes about toilet paper. We mourn the loss of our seniors’ graduations. We wonder if our kids will be allowed to go to college in the fall. Some of my friends file for unemployment. Some close their businesses. The schools serve brown-bag breakfasts and lunches to students who need them. We watch Yo-Yo Ma perform Songs of Comfort. Sometimes we sleep.

Settling In

I’m finally starting to accept what we have to do, in this time of pandemic. It’s taken me awhile to stop fighting it, at least internally, even with closures cascading around us. We even went out to eat Friday night, something I would not do today (we wanted to support our local restaurants, but from now on we’ll do take out). Every time I go to a crowded store, I wonder if I’m spreading it, or if it’s being spread to me. I’m sure all of us have been talking to friends and family across the country, and the stories seem similar everywhere. Most poignant, perhaps, was a story from a friend whose parents live in a nursing home, and he’s not allowed to visit them. It’s for the best, but it’s hard.

We needed rain desperately, and it finally arrived; we got over an inch of it yesterday. It’s looking cold and gloomy for the next week, which doesn’t help anyone’s mood, and makes it hard to be outdoors, which is our only escape right now. (I can’t imagine having to deal with old, dirty, muddy snow, like so many are having to do!) We had our trees pruned Friday and I had the tree company leave me the chippings, so each day I go out in the rain and move a couple dozen wheelbarrows-full around the yard. It keeps me away from screens and the news, which I realize I have to be disciplined about watching.

My sister-in-law Loretta sent me a poem that suggested that we treat this time as sacred, and I’ve been thinking upon that as I put in some hard graft in the garden. In fact, there is plenty of time of think these days. One thing I’ve realized is that my generation (Gen X) hasn’t really ever had to deal with scarcity before. I mean, scarcity as an economic circumstance certainly, but scarcity on this kind of scale is new to us. If we had the means, there’s never been anything stopping us from buying what we need. It’s a new feeling. I’ve said to Tom and the kids that whenever they find themselves in a store of any kind (grocery, hardware, drug) to always keep an eye out for certain things - mostly household paper goods, but also cleaning supplies. In a very small way it reminds me of all the World War II novels I’ve read where the heroine has to go stand in a line for rations and comes home with whatever is available. Of course this is not anywhere near that, I know (baked goods have been flowing from our kitchen as flour and sugar are still readily available, also another reason to hump mulch), but in a very tiny way I have a new understanding of what that kind of scarcity might look like.

I also see that in some ways, this forced family closeness is a blessing. Having two busy teenagers, one about to go off to college, has made it hard to spend time together; now we are together all the time! I’m reminded of when our kids were young, and their stuff was strewn all about the house instead of confined to their rooms. It’s cluttered, but it’s got its own kind of charm. They are having to work through their own feelings of uncertainty (will there be graduation? how to stay close to friends? how will they finish school on time? and will college even be in session in the fall?), and it promotes some good (though hard) conversations. Tom said that this time has reminded him a bit of when Adam had cancer - you just have to put blinders on and get though the day as best you can, and not look at the future too much. There is a sort of relief in that kind of living.

I also wonder how this time will factor in my kids’ personal history. Will this end up to be just a ‘blip,’ or will it be a significantly impacting event? Time will tell.

I’m always interested to hear how all of you are doing, so feel free to post a comment and we can have a conversation about all of this. We now have time for deep thought and contemplation. And time for silliness, too - we just set our TV to record all the old episodes of Mythbusters!

Stay healthy, my friends.

How's Everybody Doing?

The world just feels a little strange right now, no?

We here in the Boegel household are going through what all of you are going through, I would guess. All kinds of cancellations, including things we’d looked forward to for months. A shift in the way we work and go to school. Since Tom’s business is college, and colleges are moving to online-only classes for the foreseeable future, that entails an awful lot of logistics work, as well as concern for the students and their families. School is a safe haven for many, and the provider of perhaps the only meals available for some students, which makes it even harder to find work-arounds for these types of situations. My own college has gone online as well, which let me tell you, sounds convenient but it really isn’t the most engaging way to learn. San Francisco is emptier than usual as most folks are working from home, and that makes it difficult for the local economy to sustain itself. Several health care workers who live in my neighborhood have reported how it is for them at work, which just sounds like a logistical nightmare.

It’s worrisome to think about the future. Being at home so much, and so isolated, means more opportunity to watch/listen/read the news, which just sends me into a tailspin. My mother and I have agreed that too much social isolation isn’t good for the mental health!

Thank God for the garden. Times like this, I’m always so grateful to have a beautiful place to wander in, a respite from the struggle of everyday life. I can search for bees and other insects, turn over the compost and watch the chickens enjoy what they find, smell the orange blossoms, feel the soft papery petals on the poppies, and tend my vegetables. I can also chat with my neighbors as they walk dogs or bike by. This helps immensely. I’m always reminded that the garden feeds more than my belly.

How are you all managing? It would be interesting for me to know how people across the country (or world) are faring, and it would be great to form a sort of community here, sharing ways to maintain our sanity and remain grounded in this crazy time. We need people!

Remain healthy, my friends.

March Arrangement

I knew I wanted to feature Geum coccineum ‘Totally Tangerine’ in this month’s bouquet, because it is a star in the home garden. This year, it started blooming in early February, and as long as I deadhead and give it a little extra compost, it’ll keep flowering until the first frost. It’s simply unstoppable. As you can see, even the spent flowers are attractive, and the foliage forms a nice tidy clump (prune back old leaves for best looks). It is reliably perennial in Zones 4-10, doesn’t mind being a little crowded, and creates multi-flowered, extremely long stems which are perfect for arranging.

Along with the Geum, I used a little Borago officianalis, which really never stopped blooming all through winter here in Zone 9b. Well, maybe December was iffy, but really, it just keeps on truckin’. It reseeds quite vigorously but is easy to remove if you find it thuggish, and the bees really adore it.

For a little greenery, I added some overwintering cilantro which seeded itself in my garlic and shallot beds and grew over the cold season. It’s just now starting to look like it might bolt, so I didn’t feel so bad sacrificing these tall stalks.

We have a new favorite way to eat beets. I pick them when young, peel and chop them in quarters, and roast them in the oven with olive oil and salt. While they are roasting, I make a glaze of equal parts butter, maple syrup, and balsamic vinegar, and cook on low heat until glossy and reduced. Then I pop the roasted beets in the pan with the glaze and serve. Delicious.

We’ve eaten all the broccoli and cauliflower, and have started in on cabbages. Carrots and sugar snap peas are being picked and snacked on daily, and of course we continue to eat the greens. We’re in the process of trying to germinate lettuce without the birds or slugs getting to it - some row cover, tightly pegged to the earth, might be the ticket. Tomatoes have been seeded in trays, and squashes started in the greenhouse.

Our new chickens have begun to lay! Above is a picture of a ‘normal’ egg next to a pullet egg. The pullet eggs are about half the size of the normal eggs. The young chickens lay these for a couple of weeks, allowing the vent to stretch, then the eggs become a more normal size. We’re looking forward to having enough extra eggs soon so we can make chocolate pudding!