Sinking In

Last Monday turned out to be my last day at the market. I didn't quit, but I told my boss that I just couldn't go back until it felt safe again. She was very understanding about it. I feel horrible abandoning my amazing co-workers, who I've come to love, in the middle of this crisis. Oddly enough, I started working there one year ago, almost to the day.

This was all decided on Wednesday, March 18, 2020 - the last day of winter. After settling that with my work, I took a quick shower and threw on some old clothes and my Timberland hiking boots.

Processing the reality of this situation has been jarring.

I had seen a FB post from the young couple who run a working farm not too far from our home. They announced that their farm stand would be open for business during this time. I had some cash, because the band elected to pay ourselves out the band bank account for the gig we had planned to play last Saturday, March 14, then ended up cancelling because of the virus. The farm stand has a selection of home grown meats (pork and chicken), eggs, and spring vegetables. It was a little past noon, and the sun was bright. I asked Don if he wanted to come with me, but he had a little more work to do. So, I walked off by myself.

Getting out into the open air, everything seemed normal. How many times had I walked that route with my neighbor Donna over the last eight years? I took my time, appreciating the clean air and blue sky.

I got to the end of the road and crossed the paved road to the farm. Nobody was around, but there were signs that people had been there. I chose carefully. One whole frozen chicken, one frozen pack of pork spare ribs, and one big bag of mixed baby lettuce - all grown there, just a mile or two from my home. I left the money in the honor box and wrote down what I had selected, leaving a little "thanks" at the end. I put my items in a canvas bag I carried along with me, helped myself to a squirt from a giant bottle of hand sanitizer on the table, then left. Back across the paved road and onto the dirt road.

As I walked, I thought that this must have been kind of what it was like in the frontier days, or even maybe during the depression. Walking on a muddy road, carrying back a few days worth of food, grown by a farmer. Except, well I was texting with my family member group.. ding! Ding! Replying.. but that stopped and it was back to the muffled sounds of my boots on the dirt road and the swoosh of my canvas bag.

Halfway home, I looked up and saw another human walking my way. Of course, it was Don. He met up with me then turned back to walk with me back home. We decided we needed to be outside, in the sun, during this crazy uncertainty. It is all so much to comprehend.

Isolated from family, friends, work, stores (except for groceries.) We had gone food shopping together on Sunday, but except for my farm stand purchase on Wednesday and Don running to our little gas station store for beer and wine later that afternoon, we haven't been anywhere. I have a paycheck waiting for me at the store, but I haven't dared go get it yet.

It's been hard to focus on the things I should do. Like prepare the basement for our annual spring water seepage - which may or may not happen. In the middle of the night, I worry, as many surely do. What if one of us where to get the virus? How would we isolate in our home? I thought the basement would be the best solution, because it has a bathroom. But, what if the water seeps in this spring? Ugh. There is no way one of us could just stay cooped up in the bedroom or guest bedroom. This is all such a mess.

And, how are we going to pay our bills in April? I've got most of this months bills done, except for one giant propane bill that I really don't want to pay. Something like $462? For 100 gallons of propane at the end of February? Ridiculous. I've never defaulted on any of my bills. Somehow always manage to pay them.

Times is gonna be lean, I said aloud, a few times.

I'm used to scrimping but this could be very different.