Coronavirus, Stormy, and a Deer

Hello Dears!

I wanted to share a little excerpt that I wrote a year or two ago in late summer. It contains my current Coronavirus feelings: a sense of the inevitable, of worry, of sadness, and oddly, a sense of some peace. Then, I’m going to give you my obligatory Coronavirus checklist—all the rage.

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Stormy cornered a sick baby deer. My dog isn’t the type that responds to commands so my attempts to call her off failed. Carmelo and I tried to position ourselves in such a way that we could separate the two creatures. I didn’t think the dog would harm the deer, but this deer didn’t seem well. She was foaming at the mouth and her nose was red with what seemed to be blood. In the high mosquito-filled grass down by the stream, I pulled my phone from my pocket and googled, “can deer get rabies?” Yes, they can, but this wasn’t an obvious case—no discernable twitching like in the videos. In our efforts to keep Stormy, the dog, from eating the poop off the deer’s backside and licking at the foam coming from the deer’s mouth, we inadvertently guided both animals into the stream. Stormy chased the deer downstream and we ran after as the bank got steeper. Carmelo, who was five at the time, tripped into a small tributary en route and got his feet wet which made him sad and frustrated. Also, the mosquito bites that came from that mosquito-filled grass were starting to itch. His cheek and neck were reddening from the scratching and now his shoes felt uncomfortable.

Stormy was relentless in her pursuit and the deer eventually tired, struggling against the moving water and the rocks. After twenty minutes or so, the deer dropped down and let her head fall into the stream. Stormy, Carmelo, and I watched the little thing die, her eyes looking up from under the thin rush of water above her head. The bank was too steep for me to jump down to pull the deer out and I worried that Carmelo might follow me into danger if I tried, so we just stood there, watching. I was mad at the dog, and then she made this worse by biting into the dead deer’s side. I had hoped for a more empathetic response. Carmelo felt it though. He was crying, not particularly hard. Maybe he was worried about me or maybe he was sad about his wet shoes, but his eyes were on that deer. We walked back to the house through the back yard and I called animal control to ask my rabies questions. I’ve called them quite a few times before.

I’m not a very good farmer. I would be less bad if I had a moment to take some courses or a few hours to actually do the work. I don’t have those moments. Michael works a lot. Our gender equity has fallen away with the age-old standards that have men working and women cleaning, regardless of their passions or proclivities. I worked out of the house before we bought this farm, a farm we can scarcely afford. I felt more important then, less lost, less worried.

As we walked back through the tall grass, tripping occasionally on the downed trees buried in weeds, weeds that I should have mowed long ago and trees that I should have pulled out of the meadow so that I could mow, I held Carmelo’s hand. I felt his heart pulsing in his little fingers and I sensed his sadness, the same as mine—resigned to the mini-tragedies of rural living that are normal. We returned to the house and I returned to the tedium—the leaves on the porch that would need to be swept, the dishes in the sink waiting to be washed, the uninspiring groceries on the counter.

My life is softly sad right now and with four little kids growing and death all around me, it is also feeling desperately short. I am obsessively aware of all the dangers and diseases that might rip me from my children or my children from me. The passage of time, a passage that I know I am failing to fully appreciate, and the abrupt cruelty of mortality, the end of that time which will come faster than I can possibly imagine, are a bit too much for me.

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I promise I’m not as sad or overwhelmed as I was then. Don’t worry about me. But doesn’t that feeling kind of fit right now? Are you worried about the death we might see? I keep trying to have that feeling like I have before a snow storm, when all the news channels are covering the impending weather patterns and when people panic buy all the bread from Wegmans. Inevitably, people on Facebook start posting about how much wine and cheese they are buying to help them ride out the storm. We get kind of excited. These impending weather disasters have an energy that is bravely concerned but also kind of happy. We get a break in routine, a reason to slow down.

But that’s not this. The news pattern feels familiar but the math and science are different. I hope with my whole heart that the spread of the virus slows down, that the vaccine science speeds up, and that this will somehow lift but regardless, we’ll feel it. We’re already feeling it. I’ve been following the preparation checklists somewhat obsessively. I’ve already been to the store four times to buy cans of beans for potential quarantine. I bought some, brought them home, looked at them on my shelf, and then went out and bought more the next day. And canned soup. And noodles—good whole wheat ones that will keep the kids in top health. I bought other things that are no longer buyable like rubber globes and zinc lozenges. I forgot about hand sanitizer. We’ve never ever used hand sanitizer. But when I couldn’t find any on-line this morning, I sent Michael out. None at Safeway. None at CVS. I checked Target and Walmart on-line. Out of Stock. I thought of odd places where I’ve seen hand sanitizer in the past. I bought sixteen tiny “Simple Pleasures scented Winter Snow” hand sanitizer bottles that I remembered from my Christmas shopping at Kohl’s. (I'm laughing a little now as I picture you all going straight for your computers and buying up the rest of that stock; you can also get “Vanilla Frost” and “Pepperment Swirl.”) I also took some cash out of the bank—a hundred dollars, nothing to crash the system. And bought a water purifier. Just in case.

CHECKLIST #1: DON’T PANIC

Um. I’m really trying not to. I implore you not to. Especially, don’t buy up all the face masks because we need these for doctors. If your doctors can’t stay safe, your doctors won’t go to work, and if your doctors don’t go to work, there won’t be treatment for the people you love, if/when they get ill. I don’t have any face masks. They don’t do much for prevention. You can’t buy them anymore anyway. I’m sure I would have purchased enough for my family, but then I wouldn’t have been able to figure out how many would be enough. I would have over-purchased, violating the most critical element of rule number one. Do you want this shame and guilt? Am I panicking?

This “Don’t Panic” thing is a hard one because there is such a fine line between take-this-seriously and keep-your-head man. I’m not sure what “don’t panic” look likes but I think it means this: Be reflective now so you don’t freak out later. The math is showing us that this is going to be serious, not like a snow storm that will or won’t come. If you are thoughtful and responsible, you will save lives. Put post-its up in bathrooms that remind people to wash their hands. Wash your hands. Buy lotion because your hands should crack something terrible because you wash them so much. Worry now rather than later. And then help others who were too scared to worry when they should have. Share your things!

CHECKLIST #2: STAY INFORMED

I’ve always been curious when people implore other people to keep conversation civil by staying away from politics. Everything is political. Everything. The United States can feel so insulated, safe, and protected if you are a person who is insulated, safe, and protected. Political things can feel distant. Political conversations might seem unnecessary or impolite. I am interested to see how this crisis will change the way that we communicate about political decisions and how we activate our political power. Seems that none of us will be insulated, safe, or protected enough. Will we talk with our neighbors about decisions being made, even if our neighbors are on a different political team? Will we research the topics in order to make sure that we are getting information that is accurate? Will we demand transparency from our political figures, even those political figures we trust?

Let’s figure out the problems that face us with an active brain. We can even argue. This is okay. Arguing helps us all learn and grow. Debate about what’s right and what’s wrong. Get into it. Your brain will grow. Our collective brains will grow. Then, demand that your leaders do what is right, no matter who those leaders are. We must step away from blind faith in our humans. They are fallible. Now’s a good time to trust the scientific process and those avenues of information that are less readily corrupted by personal ambition. Or, nurture your faith rather than those fallible humans. Go back to the roots of your religion. How are we supposed to behave if we are to be good? Be good.

CHECKLIST #3: BE PREPARED

I guess this is the big one that gets to the heart of my story about the deer. We are fragile beings on this earth for just a very short time. Try your best to appreciate this little bit of time we have. We will have so many beautiful moments in the weeks to come. Notice the sky and the trees. Notice how adorable your kids are, even when they are whiny and problematic. Appreciate mundane tasks for their simplicity and meditative calm. Recognize fear in irrational behavior. Calm it with your kindness. Be less irritated at the people you love. They’re either freaking out or in denial. Both are sweet responses to sad things that happened to them when they were little kids. Love the little kids when you can’t quite muster the affection for their current forms. And above all, take care of yourself. Be kind to yourself. You are trying so hard, doing your best. It’s okay if you’re not perfect. Love, my people, love!