Wednesday - 222nd

I love my morning walks that cut through the farmette lands, I do.

 

And nature hikes - I adore those. They're all almost up there with morning breakfasts with Ed -- it's all so meditative, serene, soothing.

But here's something I've noticed too: if you've been isolating yourself for 222 days, never once in that time entering a store, an eatery or cafe, nor even coming close to a group of people -- friends or strangers, you come to love something else, too: walks through emergent new neighborhoods, ones where new homes are popping up at the speed of an overzealous corn popper.

I know I was among those who spoke out against the development that is going up to the west, north and eventually east of us. And it is true that the development poses a danger to the fragile wetland habitat it abuts. But since we lost that fight, I've come to appreciate two things: first of all, the construction here has been made to be much more sensitive to environmental issues than it would have been, had so many people not voiced repeated objections way back when. And secondly -- and this ties into my isolation -- I have come to love my walks through this developing new community of homes.

For one thing, it takes me exactly 300 steps from the farmette property to reach their sidewalk. That's a three minute walk along a rural road (and one that has plenty of shoulder space, so that I do not actually have to walk on the road at all). This is nothing short of fantastic for a person like me, who loves proximate walks. The kind that don't require a car ride first.

Rural roads are not safe for walking. Talk about distracted drivers! Empty roads invite all sorts of unsafe driving behaviors. Too, they invite recklessness of a different kind. For instance, why were there two empty vodka flasks thrown out a car window onto our property just in the last day? And all those beer cans! Amazing how many people disregard drinking and driving laws. Really shocking. 

But also, I love something else that six months ago would have meant nothing to me: I love the sound of new construction. Of workmen pounding nails to the loud music of seventies or eighties rock. I love seeing people fill the homes with their own nesting objects. Porch chairs, potted plants. One is putting up solar panels, another is fencing the tiny yard, allowing me to speculate -- for a dog? A child? There is human activity everywhere and to me it is as social as it gets and I am enraptured by all of it.

I took such a walk later this morning, as Ed shut off the gas (and therefore the furnace) to continue his work on the water heater. The house is actually plenty warm even without the aid of a furnace, but still, when he says things like -- "let me know if you smell gas," I know it's better that I leave the premises rather than imagine that there is a gas leak and I'm just not sensitive enough to pick it up. (He says these things to tease me. Ed is very careful when working with gas pipes.)

One of these days I'll have to take pictures of some of my favorite houses. I'd say it's a middle income neighborhood -- nothing very large or extravagant, lots of tiny lots and townhouses and single story small homes. All interesting, just because, well, it's touched by a human hand.

(as seen from the back of the farmette...)

 

In the afternoon, I am with Snowdrop, outside, distanced, with masks. Except when she is eating a slice of Ed's birthday rhubarb cake.

We are so lucky! All that gray cold dreariness? Gone. It's cool, yes, of course. But not too cold for some time outside! And the sunshine! Stunning sunshine!

Because I know that Ed is out biking, I don't rush home after my Snowdrop time. I go to the park that is not too far from where she lives. Owen Woods. I have to say, this little bit of nature conservancy has some of Madison's best late October colors. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ed's home in time for supper. And popcorn. And the next episode of the the series that has us tuning in every day, even though it's not very good. Perhaps we feel drawn to the characters, as if their familiar faces too were part of our social world these days. Isolation makes you like a heck of a lot of things much more than in the days when you actually had a choice of how you might want to spend your waking hours.

And maybe that openness to finding pleasure in strange places is a good thing. Maybe.