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.