Springing Into Life

Sometimes one wonders if spring will ever settle in or if hints of summer are to be forever postponed. But slowly the greening appears on the hills. Slowly the spring flowers pop up and show us their bloom. The bushes and shrubs burst into vibrant colours. The trees, recently bare, have magically come into leaf.

Yes, in late May there are still morning frosts and chilly winds, but when the sun is out one feels invigorated. And here in the Annapolis Valley, the apple and cherry trees provide a breathtaking display. The forsythia bushes are huge and cheerful in their cloth of bright yellow. And the magnolia that seem to embrace this beautiful place are magnificent. The grey and damp of winter will soon be a distant, memory.

Friends of a Feather

I had never paid much heed to seagulls before moving to Nova Scotia. Yes, I had seen them before, and even far away from the sea.  At our farm house in Ontario, they would flock behind the tractors tilling the ground or laying seed. And of course, we have had other seaside ventures in our long life.

But here at our home in Granville Ferry, we cannot avoid them. And I have to say they are magnificent. Their colours of bright white, soft grey and black remind me of the hues of the 1970s Swedish films by Bergman. And they are graceful, playful and from time to time fierce.

We have discovered that there is a pair of them that seems to make our immediate environs home. Perhaps the previous owners had fed them from the master bedroom window. For some reason they come to the roof top outside our window in the early morning and chatter away at us inside. To get our attention they will tap lightly at the glass. And if my partner is sitting at his desk in the day, one or the other of them will land and try to get his attention.  

But feed them, we have not: At least not from there, and certainly not very regularly. Other neighbours do. They are the garbage recyclers of our neighbourhood.

Our pair like to settle in the long grass at the foot of our lot on the grass flat that is submerged at high tide. But apart from our rooftop visits, they have not paid much attention to us. Even when we sit on the deck by the water, they have kept their distance.

On one of the few warm, windless sunny evenings of late, we sat at the water’s edge for a riparian supper of pizza and salad. And it was delicious and uneventful from an aviary point of view. How pleasant! How peaceful!

My partner climbed back up the hill to retrieve the next course, the remnants of one of my three birthday cakes provided by friends, and neighbours. It was a rich chocolate whisky cake with whipped cream and raspberries.

Well, I did not need to be told of his pending arrival with the delights. The gulls swarmed close overhead, squawking loudly, and our two landed on the grass close by… indeed the closest they had ever allowed themselves to come to us. Well, if you think either of us would surrender even a crumb of such a creamy chocolate delicacy, you don’t know us very well. But the pair of gulls stayed chattering quietly at us – one might even say clucking.

We decided they needed a name since they appeared to have adopted us in a manner of speaking. So the larger one, which we presume stereotypically to be the male has been crowned “Jesse”. The slightly smaller one is now “Jennifer”. We aren’t sure yet whether they actually respond to these nomenclatures; but we like to think that they are beginning to do so.

Yesterday evening as the sun moved westward overhead, Jesse  landed on our deck’s high-top table and started to chatter away at us as we sat inside with our happy hour beverage. Then Jennifer appeared and the two settled down for a rest for the longest time, preening and occasionally looking in at us.

This was a first. I know they are trying to weaken our resolve; but as lovely as this was, we do not wish to encourage such close encounters over a longing for food scraps.  But we have to say, we are enjoying the new friendship, even if the bond appears to be in a hope for nourishment.

More Reflections on Eight Weeks of Annapolis Covid Life

The day my partner, John, and I arrived home to Nova Scotia from our winter retreat in Cuba was March 22, 2020. It was the day this Province had imposed emergency measures to combat the Covid-19 pandemic. We were already feeling not only anxious but also relieved. The uncertainty of our hasty evacuation from Cuba three days earlier than we had planned, by reason of pending boarder closures and flight cancellations, was the cause of our sense of anxiety. Relief was being in home territory. But it was to be a different territory from the one we had left almost three months previously.

We were picked up at the Halifax airport in our own vehicle by a friend. Despite keeping distance, we could not strictly comply with the two meter separation requirement we had just been informed of on our exit from the arrivals department at the airport. The desire for a friendly hug and the knowledge that we could not have one gave me a sense of awkwardness.

We had been away from home for three months; so we knew that our larder was bare. To our surprise and great pleasure, when we opened the refrigerator door, we found a two litre bottle of fresh cows milk, a dozen duck eggs, some chicken livers (as I am known for my fine pate) and a whole cleaned organic chicken.

Our friend told us that the local grocery store was filling orders and, if need be, delivering. Our order placed early the next morning, was filled within one hour and we arranged for a niece to pick it up. Our larder was stocked within a further hour. We felt fortunate indeed. And a few days later we received two litres of creamy goats’ milk and goat cheese and this is has become a weekly occurrence.

We did not fully understand the restrictions imposed on us, which were for a two week period of “mandatory isolation”. In large part this was caused by a radio clip we listened to in the car on the way home. It was of our Premier who was saying that we could go for a walk in our neighbourhoods for the purpose of exercise but not to socialize. And this is precisely what we started to do each evening after supper. Rarely did we see anyone. If we did one or the other of us would awkwardly give wide berth to the other, usually by crossing the street. Sometimes, there would be a wave or a short verbal acknowledgement. But people were uneasy.

After several such evening strolls, a neighbour chastised us for being out of the house while in isolation. We felt humbled. We slinked home and went on-line to check things out. We never did find a satisfactory answer to our dilemma. But in the interest of caution we halted our evening strolls and only ventured out into our garden or onto our deck for the rest of our isolation.

The end of that two weeks of imprisonment felt like a breath of fresh air – a sense of freedom, albeit of limited freedom. We returned to our evening strolls with relish. Over a period of several weeks we found that those we met along the way, and there were few, while maintaining the dictated distance, were ever so much more relaxed, chipper and  chatty.

We continued to place our food orders on line or over the phone; but one of us would go to pick them up. And we discovered that the grocery store employees often did a better job of shopping than we did ourselves. We were extremely grateful for this service as we did not have any great desire to navigate the different rules of different stores.

Some people when out in public, not many, wore face masks, a few wore those dreadful blue plastic gloves. It all seemed so sterile. If one did not conform one was often the recipient of a scornful glance. Fortunately, most people did not undertake such rigid measures; so we were not alone in that regard.

We discovered Zoom, that on-line video meeting program. We had never heard of it before returning from Cuba. We had known, but infrequently used, Skype. I then discovered DUO, another video form of technology, on my smart phone. A Zoom tea party with family was a failure as our devices were not state of the art and our internet connexion far from adequate. But we persevered. A Zoom cocktail hour (actually forty minutes) with friends in Ontario, was only satisfactory from the point of view of seeing people one had not seen in a long time. The sound was dreadful and the visual inconsistent. A Skype get-together with neighbours just across the road was a little better. We had not seen them since returning home as they were rather reclusive in the circumstances. After all, we live in an area of people who are considered, or who consider themselves to be, vulnerable to this dreaded virus. And a DUO telephone communication was less than satisfactory as we both facially looked like stuffed pears.

But email proved my friend. I got in regular touch with people I knew. We shared stories and Covid-life experiences. Everyone was in the same boat, or at least a similar one, regardless of where they lived in Canada, the U.S.A. or overseas. Everyone wanted to share their feelings and their anxiety. Everyone wanted to feel connected to others.

Cooking became a pastime. And the meals we prepared were wonderful and have continued to be so: beef stews, chicken stews and soups, lasagnas, cod and scalloped potatoes and so on. 

Writing, reading and listening to music have filled many hours, as has fiddle practice. And since my retirement five years ago I have annually performed a monologue to raise money for various causes. Some of these have been written by myself. However, live performance is not permitted in this time of pandemic. I had written and worked on a new play over the previous six months. I felt a need to perform it somehow. I considered video; but I do not have the equipment or the skill or the financial ability to effect such an undertaking. And practically speaking it would not be feasible in this time of social distancing. I decided on an audio version. That too had its challenges. The result was less than perfect from a production perspective; but I posted my first ever podcast and used it to raise money for performing artists who were negatively impacted by the pandemic restrictions. It did not “go viral” but it did raise $500.

The weather has not, until more recently, been particularly pleasant, so outdoor gardening has been limited. And it seems everyone is baking! We have been the beneficiaries of homemade, bread, hot cross buns, Danishes, cookies and cakes. And much of this has come from a delightful seven-year-old girl who lives close by. She appears secretively at our back door, having hidden behind the wall to make sure no one will see her. She looks in our kitchen window. If I am in there, my partner will call from his upstairs window beside the desk he works at, and tell me I should leave the kitchen. I do so. And when I would go to the back door shortly after, I would find a container with fresh baking delights sitting on a table. We have reciprocated with our own homemade cookies, not doing the clandestine bit so aptly. I am not, however, up to the culinary standard of some of our fine neighbours.

During this time, I turned seventy. There has been no celebration, which my partner had wanted for me. It was a very low key day. But friends from Europe, the United Kingdom, Cuba, the U.S.A. and across Canada sent me congratulatory emails, creative personalized videos and made musical phone calls. And in the baking category, I was the recipient of three incredibly delicious cakes. People are reaching out. People want to reach out. People are discovering the need to reach out. And I have been doing the same.

Weeks have passed. Little by little people seemed to relax. Not everyone has by any means. Going out to different stores can prove nerve-racking. Shopping on line, which I had rarely done before, is daunting. I have sought items such as ink cartridges, computer paper, even shoes and so forth. This was not always a satisfactory experience. Indeed, some things ordered never arrived, others were not exactly what one had desired. Trying to get on-line help to resolve issues has been a nightmare and frequently proven impossible.

Sitting on our deck in Granville Ferry and looking over at Annapolis Royal across the river is bizarre. There has been little or no activity, few vehicles, fewer people; and we have missed the almost daily routine of watching the local bus pass by on St. George Street or the Causeway. Gradually, thankfully, one has started to see a few more vehicles pass on Lower St. George in the past week. People were getting stir-crazy. Cabin fever if you will. But I have to say, at the same time we have enjoyed the greater silence.

We could never understand why we were allowed on the sidewalks, but could not use the trails, the boardwalk or the parks. We did not understand why exercise and fresh air were not considered essential to one’s well being, both physical and mental. When these venues finally re-opened six weeks into our state of emergency, there was another sense of grasping at that freedom – being thankful for the re-gifting of what had been taken away.

However, it seems to me that few people are taking hold of this renewed freedom. Today the sun was out and it was warm. There was not the relentless chilly wind that seems to have been with us for so long. But on our circular walk along the waterfront trail by the new development, and up Lower St. George onto the Boardwalk and into and around Fort Anne, we passed very few walkers. Those that there were were mostly individuals who may have said a quick hello or smiled cautiously as they continued on their way. On our outward journey today, there were two individuals who passed us, one hastily and one with a more vigorous greeting on the waterfront trail, a woman and her dog who gave us wide passage on the boardwalk, and a single male who overtook us at the Fort. On the homeward journey there was a woman and a small child who timidly smiled as they quickly passed us on the boardwalk and a single woman who passed us with a friendly hello on the waterfront trail.

And then, one has only recently discovered, despite assertions to the contrary, that we could have always walked on the pathways at Fort Anne during this period. Being a national Park, it was only closed to vehicular traffic, not pedestrians!  The Historic Gardens had been open too for a while. Why were we not told this? The messaging was all about “Stay Home”. This message was everywhere; and one always had a sense that there were spies out with disapproving eyes eager to shame us and to keep us at home.

But, to the chagrin of some, we have early on seized the right to have “non-essential social distanced gatherings” of up to five people on our deck when the weather is somewhat agreeable. Many thought this was not acceptable. But carefully analyzing the confusing rules, led us to feel we were within our rights. And now we are told we can have a two-household bubble. For us, and for many, this is ridiculous and would not work. So, we will stick with the occasional gatherings of up to five disparate people. It takes some effort to stay socially distanced; but it is not by any means impossible.

We long for the day when we can again go to the local pub to have a pint and to listen to live music, or to go to some of our favourite restaurants; should they survive this extended period of closures. We long for live music and the theatre to be once again available to us. We are not television viewers and do not enjoy it.

We know we are fortunate to be living this strange time in such a wonderful place. We know we are fortunate to have a lovely home with a lovely view. We know we are fortunate not to be out of work and struggling financially. We each of us know that we are fortunate to have a partner to share this time with. And we ache for those who are alone, financially hurting, or stuck in dreary places that confine them to solitude.

We hope this time is a time of learning. A time for re-evaluating what is important and realizing that we need far less than we thought. But we do need each other. And we do need a healthy planet. So time will tell.

Of Oddities and Odysseys

These past eight weeks have been bizarre, to say the least. A time for conspiracy theorists to thrive.

We were essentially evacuated at the last minute from our winter home in Cuba amidst considerable uncertainty and stress. Borders were closing. Airlines were allegedly shutting down.

We came home to a “State of Emergency” here in our home Province of Nova Scotia and indeed in Canada. Forced isolation for two weeks greeted us. This has been followed by six weeks of social distancing and awkward encounters. And it is ongoing. Messages are mixed and sometimes conflicting.

Yet we have not been hard done by, and perhaps that is because we are not alone. Everyone is in the same boat – or at least the same sort of boat – whether they be in the United Kingdom, Germany, Cuba, virtually every other country in the world, or here at home.

The weather has been disappointing but perhaps orchestrated to keep us inside – if you are a conspiracy theorist, which I am not. We have found creative ways to give us a sense of normalcy.

But we do exist in limbo, as does the rest of the world’s people. For us, we wonder if we will be able to traverse three provincial border stations to make it to our summer cabin in Ontario. One wonders, what has become of our mobility rights under the Charter of Rights and Freedoms?

 If we cannot do this, it will be the first time in 34 years that we have not been able to spend a good deal of time there during the summer. Of course, we should be loath to complain about having to spend it here by the sea, where the seals keep us amused, as do the small birds harassing the bald eagle. It’s all very symbolic you see.

But our rustic cabin needs our care. It has sustained damage for the first time in all of those 34 seasons. High winds, no doubt orchestrated by those same elusive daemons, have toppled a mighty cedar tree, which crashed thoughtlessly through the large front window.

It is a difficult time to deal with repairs especially form a distance; but fortunately the kindness of neighbours has secured it against the elements for the time being.

We have, however, learned of another strange and recent occurrence in these bizarre times of weather bombs and foreign conspiracies… Our small lake, which is usually home to loons, ducks, and sometimes Canada Geese, with occasional visits by a cormorant or two, has recently been visited by another type of water fowl.

We learned this from a cottage neighbour. And this visitor has ne’er been seen by my eyes on our lake in those 34 previous seasons. It is a graceful Trumpet Swan, and one accompanied by a strange bedfellow” at that: a lone Canada Goose! 

Strange times indeed. Perhaps an omen for better things to come. Or is this just another conspiracy?

Exhale

Just as spring offers a warming, and an unfolding of leaves and flowers, a reawakening of nature, I can feel the pre-pandemic life starting to come back to us, little by little. 

The recent re-opening of the parks and trails in our province has seemed like a huge release of energy. I notice on our evening walks that people seem more relaxed. There are more smiles and there is less fear. I don’t mean people are being careless. They are merely demonstrating less anxiety at meeting up with people on the way. Those who previously would not even accept the right to have a socially responsible social gathering of up to five people are now starting to seize this liberty and to relish in it. 

We are inching back to some semblance of community. There is more laughter. More optimism. Let it grow.

No Idle Mind

Keeping busy during social isolation has not been so terribly hard on me. I am in more regular communication with friends near and far. A very dear friend from England just emailed me a newspaper clipping about the redoing of Alan Bennett’s iconic “Talking Heads” series of monologues. She thought I would be interested because of my own staging of several of his works. 

However, she had only kept the paper in which the article was found in anticipation of the arrival of her new puppy. I told her that her puppy could now pee on it. I do always hate to see a re-make of something great. But then I guess that is precisely what I did, isn't it?

Right now, I am struggling with putting together an audio version of my most recent play, written as a monologue and intended for the stage.  However, given the current state of affairs, I had to rethink that plan. 

Now, I am attempting to use the voices of other characters that the main character would only tell you about in a monologue. These voices have been recorded in individual homes on individual devices: laptops, ipads, smart phones. And the challenge for me is and has been figuring out how to insert them into the main recording with some degree of success.

My laptop voice recorder leaves a lot to be desired. So do my recording skills. And managing the keyboard while I try to do my lines - with some feeling - is daunting: Press play; speak my lines; press pause; try to simultaneously press play on two separate screens in order to add a voice clip at just the right spot, with just the right volume, and with some measure of accurate timing. This has proven to be almost impossible - for me at least.

I gave up on the several sound bytes that I had hoped to use: the sea and sea gulls, birds in a park, bar noises with music in the background, and so forth. This not only required a third screen on my small laptop monitor, but the reproduction left a great deal to be desired: The waves sounded more like a toilet being flushed repeatedly. The birds sounded like a steam kettle boiling. The bar sounded like a 1950 Morris Oxford trying to start up on a frosty morning at -10 Celsius. And a clip of a poorly played fiddle, intended to be so, sounded like a distant, whining chainsaw!

But at least all of this has helped to keep me busy with take after hopeless take. What I seem to be arriving at will be far from perfect. I accept this state of affairs, albeit reluctantly. But this will be my humble attempt to give something back to this wonderful province of Nova Scotia in these difficult times. It may also ruin my theatrical reputation. But one has to take risks.