A Diary
The 95 degree Texas heat seemed long ago. This clear, sunny Vermont day made easing into our self- imposed quarantine less painful. Thankfully, I never tire of the view from our large bedroom window. From our bed I can look across the garden at Breadloaf Mountain. Below that, I can see the grape arbor and what was once a large garden, now blueberry bushes. When the Lilacs bloom, the fragrance wafts through the open windows. I've spent hours sitting on the bedroom deck. When younger, I'd strip down and lie there getting brown in the summer sun; nowadays, I sit quietly, hardly moving, in an effort to capture on camera the many birds in the surrounding trees. We have the perfect mix of conifers and hardwood trees, attracting warblers and those birds loving the "fringe". Through the window on my side of the bed, I can see our pond, a lure for water fowl, insects and wildlife. If I must be quarantined to one large room, this isn't bad.
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| The large window to the right is the bedroom. |
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| A fall view, Breadloaf Mountain, grapes and garden.......wish Bucky would mend the fence! |
On our first day home, now a staycation, a watched a Blue Bird flutter to the ground from the garden fence. I took this as a positive sign... isn't it the bluebird of happiness?
I've thought during this time of isolation, how nice it would be to have a living parent, someone who would have experienced an epidemic or pandemic first hand, polio, scarlet fever, even the Great Depression. How did they handle the losses?
The harsh news of Covid 19 and its killing effect in China was in the news before our departure on March 16th. Our RV was fully stocked and we left uncertain on when we would return, but feeling safe in leaving. If needed, perhaps we'd keep going and end up in AK. We weren't thinking border closures and shelter in place orders. We rolled South and the green grass and Red Bud of VA and TN convinced us we had made the right choice by leaving snowy cold VT. The warm air of Southwest Texas welcomed us with open arms. We had a carefully thought-out plan to remain isolated while camping. Bucky alone exited the RV to gas up. He preformed his duties with gloves and virus killing sprays, followed by a 20 second soapy hand wash. We were surprised to see fellow travelers using no precautions. The highway and stores lining our route were crowded with people. Our final destination was to be AZ. We thought that if we could find the right camping spot on BLM land, we would be fine until this virus passed.
We soon learned that Big Bend National Park in Texas was closed to camping, so we headed to Amistad National Recreation Area near Del Rio Texas. Here, we discovered birds I'd never seen before.
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| Grey Vireo |
We were awakened each morning by Mockingbirds whistling like parakeets and scarlet red Vermillion Flycatchers startling the eye when alighting on the prickly pear cactus.
One day, while stalking a warbler that refused to come out of hiding, I was approached by two ranchers on ATVs. They asked if I'd seen any cows. I replied, no. Seeing the camera around my neck, they asked what I was photographing. I said, birds. It was then that they told me of the white doe they had seen the day before.
To my great surprise, she appeared on the hillside the following morning accompanied by suitors. She wasn't pure albino, but piebald. Her white hair was in stark contrast to that of her companions.
Our time spent at Amistad was filled with unexpected sights and sounds. This ended abruptly when we were informed by a ranger that the Park was closing and we would need to leave by morning. Our thoughts then turned to camping in Ft. Davis, TX. After that, we would move on to New Mexico, but phone calls from home and media coverage of the rapidly moving virus altered our plans. There appeared to be no way of outrunning this fast moving demon. So on March 27, we left Alpine Texas and headed home to Vermont.
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| Vermillion Flycatcher |
We returned to an occupied house. As the virus worsened around New York City, we encouraged our daughter, Burke and her two sons to leave her home in Hartford, CT and telecommute from Vermont.
Now, we needed to find a way to safely cohabitate.
Although we had taken precautions while traveling, we had crossed many state lines. The only way to reunite as a family under one roof, would be for Bucky and I to isolate for 14 days. No touching, no hugging of grandsons, social distancing to the maximum and lots of texting and Facetime. Anything passed from their side of the house to us, would be wiped down with antiseptic wipes and hands would be washed before and after. Bucky and I would continue to prepare our meals in the RV kitchen using the food, utensils, pots, pans and dishes as if still camping. We would sleep and use our first floor bedroom and bathroom, entering and exiting by way of a sliding door onto the deck. Burke and her boys would have the rest of the house. She would do our laundry which I would place on the front porch in a basket.
April 1
Bright sun and 50 degrees. I took a much needed walk to the river and around the pond. I pushed on the raft, still frozen in pond ice, and watched as it broke free sending ripples beneath the ice. In a week or two, it will once again be free floating and within a few months, young athletic bodies will launch from its splintered wood into the pond's cold, clear water. The brook feeding the pond ran briskly by as I walked the Quinn trail to where it joins our driveway. I could hear the boys kicking a soccer ball across the front lawn. I watched as they made a game of sliding across the snow that still lined the driveway. Hollering, I asked if they wanted to walk up the dirt road while staying a safe distance from me. With Joe on his bike and Justice running beside, we headed. I know every step of this walk. I know that within a month, the woods will explode with Trillium, Trout Lilly, Wild Violets and spring green mosses and ferns. A rotting pile of logs, cut from a blow down that once blocked the road after a summer storm, now marks where we head into the woods to pick leeks in May. It's here that we also might stumble upon the few Fiddlehead ferns that this piece of woods holds. I tell the boys to keep going to the "fallen down house" while I head onto the Hana Trail. From here I can look down at the river. Snow still lies in patches on the riverbank and ice clings to the rocks except where the swift current has swept it away. I can see the boys have stopped and are now throwing rocks from the road, trying to reach the water with them. Joe yells that he's hit the water, but from where I stand it seems doubtful. It makes me glad that these city boys are spending time in the country. Maybe the virus which closed all schools for the remainder of the school year is responsible for different education. We reach the "fallen down house" which now exists as a field stone cellar hole, trees taking root within. Neither boy is old enough to remember the house having rough clapboard walls. Each winter heavy snow caused the dilapidated walls, no longer sheltered or supported by a roof, to fall further into the house interior. It was over thirty years ago that we built our house on this roadside and named this abandoned home, the "fallen down house". I know that the generation before us knew it as the old Kate Gove place.
Across the road from the cellar hole, Joseph has discovered barbed wire marked with orange fluorescent tape. It's embedded in the hemlock trees against which it was strung to keep livestock from heading down the steep bank and into the river. The Gove family undoubtedly had at least a cow and maybe sheep, pigs or goats as did most Ripton families living on small farms.
I know the orange tape was applied after a neighbor's dog received a nasty wound running past the protruding wire.
Justice's hands are cold and Joseph is anxious to show me how fast he can pedal on the hill leading home. I watch him speed by, legs pumping furiously and smiling broadly. Justice runs beside him slowly falling behind as the bicycle gains speed. I trail further behind feeling the unusually cool spring breeze blow my breath away from my grandsons. How far do these deadly virus germs travel anyway?
3pm watching season 3 of Ozark on Netflix on computer propped on the bed.
Discussion via text with Burke about ordering food on line for delivery or pickup. She hasn't been in a store since March 20 and I haven't entered a public space since March 13 when I had my hair cut. It's decided that our son Levi, who is still commuting to work from Ripton into Middlebury will bring our phone ordered groceries up to us. He volunteers to be our go to person if essentials are required. No need for us all to take chances. He will place the groceries in our open garage. There, on a table set up for this purpose, one side sterile and one side not, the groceries will be unloaded by Burke. Exterior packaging will be sprayed with disinfectant, wiped down, interior packaging dumped out onto the sterile half of the table. Fruits and veggies will be washed with soapy water. Burke will handle everything, having been professionally trained by a You Tube video! The groceries going to us will be placed on the deck outside our bedroom and we'll retrieve, disinfect again and place them in the mini fridge in our room or on the shelf that used to hold my T-shirts.
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| Our bedroom kitchenette. |
April 1st is traditionally a day of surprises and it didn't disappoint. In late afternoon, Mountain Time, I once again became a Great Aunt. Other than the matronly sound of this, I was thrilled to learn via text message that my nephew and wife welcomed into the world a healthy, beautiful baby girl, Zadie Rose. Difficult times can deliver unexpected beauty. Lives will be lost as this ruthless virus moves among us, but new lives will arrive. Bucky reports that over 3,000 have died in NY, NJ and CT. I can hear the TV on in the livingroom and I'm happy Burke and her boys are comfortably wrapped in blankets on my couch.
April 2
"is it snowing?" I asked Bucky as I rolled to my back in the early morning light.
"Maybe it's just fog", he replied. "No.....it's snow",
Bucky heated the water for coffee on our camp stove as I settled my pillows against the headboard for morning coffee. The smell of a new day beginning drifted my way as he depressed the plunger on the French press. Morning coffee is a ritual with us.
All day the wind blew snow in waves and circles across the front lawn. We slept, Bucky read, I typed.
At 5:00 we put our parkas on and headed onto the deck to walk around to the RV. We both waved to Burke through the kitchen window, seated at the desktop computer. The boys looked up from their game on the floor giving us big smiles and waves. I saw flames flickering from our pellet stove which we call "the rabbit"and I knew they were warm beside it. Once in the RV we turned up the heat and settled into our usual cocktail seats, me on the couch, feet up and Bucky at the dinette. For some reason he likes that seat! I lit the oven and sipped my wine, waiting while our pizza cooked. From the couch window overlooking the pond, I watched a pair of Mallards navigate the limited open water. The drake stayed glued to the hen's side. Bluebirds and Mallards..... falling snow can't slow the arrival of spring. I texted Burke from the RV letting her know of the ducks. She took the boys to the room above the garage where they looked through binoculars. I asked Joseph, our bird lover, to identify them and for extra credit, what are male and female ducks called?
Home schooling!
April 3
7:30 am, 37 degrees, snow covered lawn 10 am 40 degrees and roof sliding slush, mini fridge not working properly. Back to using snow for refrigeration.
12 noon, dreary but enjoyable to be outside walking with the boys. Finding that our WiFi can't keep up with the demand of added devices.
Breakfast dishes are done in the bathroom sink and then laid to dry on a bath towel, dish detergent stands beside our toothpaste giving my stomach a bit of a turn. French press grounds stirred with water and poured into the toilet, flushed. That looks gross! The day is clearing. The living room TV plays a kid show. Bucky's in the garage working on the mini fridge. I asked Burke for a table cloth instead of place mats for our small table. Place mats don't cover enough of the wood and water droplets, now an ominous phrase, hit the varnish causing water marks. Once again I think of my mother. This was her table and she ALWAYS kept it covered. After her death, I received it. The glossy dark cherry finish was like glass, not a blemish to be found. Now, like an adolescent's face, it could use a heavy dose of Clearasil. How did I think I'd be able to live up to her disciplined table etiquette? Now a large scratch stretches across the center and several white rings jump to view from glasses errantly placed. Like an eagle I would watch my dinner guests lift their beverages to their lips and prey they would successfully land them back on their place mat. Some guests were adept at doing this while many more were oblivious to what would occur when missing the landing pad. Years ago, I decided to enjoy our guests and a well prepared meal instead of worrying over drinks gone rogue.
This morning I asked Burke to remove a table cloth from the dining room hutch, where I have no access. She placed it outside my bedroom door. It now colorfully covers the entire table and I carried the place mats into the bathroom for temporary storage in the linen closet. Dish towels and place mats stored in the bathroom, what would Mom think of that? While in the bathroom, as if on auto pilot, I washed my hands.....20 seconds plus.
Using the house well water is a blessing. In the RV we are very conservative in our water use. Two weeks ago, in Nashville, TN we stayed overnight at a KOA Campground. There we dumped and took on water. Not wanting to touch much of anything, we didn't enter the campground bathrooms. We no longer have a shower in our motorhome. Years ago we placed a chest freezer in the shower space. This freezer allowed us to bring venison from Ripton to AK and salmon home from AK. It's worked out really well, except for this trip. By the time we reached Big Bend (open for day use) we hadn't showered since leaving Vermont and had experienced 90+ degree heat. I had done a few sponge baths, but upon touching the water of the Rio Grande, there was no stopping me. I stripped down with carefree abandon. With the park essentially closed, we had every trail, overlook, picnic and parking area to ourselves. Even if someone had walked up, I wouldn't have cared. The cool water felt just too good.
The water carried some silt, but shampoo dripped from my fingers as I dunked my head into the river. Bucky looked on smiling. A low spot in the river made the walk into Mexico easily achievable. Later that same day we watched horses cross the river from Mexico. The grass was obviously greener in the US! Immigrants.
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This beautiful Pinto stood with me on US soil whinnying, encouraging others to cross over, within minutes they did. I could hear voices speaking Spanish but never could locate people. In the intense heat ,they were sheltered in the brush.
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| Like me, this horse couldn't resist cooling off! |
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| after my dip |
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| Bucky waiting for the soap. |
