Ever since the governor ordered folks to stay in place, traffic through Grand Marais has all but vanished. And now on April 8, with the governor extending his order through May 4, traffic will remain slow throughout the county. Staff photo/Brian Larsen
Into our daily lives rushes the portent of bad news; COVID-19 spills 24-7 from our chaotic TVs like a never-ending tsunami of words; words lash and crash, calm and then build and then, steadily, steadily, words become repetitious. Over and over we are told, “Be diligent about washing your hands, vigorously scrub with soap and water for 20 seconds or sing two rounds of happy birthday before stopping and drying, cough into your elbow, stay six feet away, sir, ma’am, from everyone, wear a face mask when out in a crowd” –if crowds exist anymore, and then, where?
If the pandemic has done one thing, it is to make us the same. Small town mouse and city mouse are all now just one house mouse. Stay away and stay inside, we are told. And we do. Even the most adventurous of us listen. And not just for our own well-being. We can carry this nasty virus and never know we have it, but it could manifest in the illness or death of an older person or sick person we care about. It’s insidious, invisible, ruthless in its relentless pandemic pursuit of us. We can’t see it, but right now, it rules us.
Doctors and medical health experts tell us that by staying inside, we are flattening the curve on the virus. It’s true. It’s working. We listen to our medical professionals now, as we never have in the past. We salute our health care workers, their virtue, diligence, hard work, and smarts. We fear for the ones that work without the tools they need. We are told we are at war with this virus, and medical staffs at some hospitals are in the thick of battle with rakes instead of rockets. Bereft of the right kinds of masks and reusing throwaway gloves. No ventilators in sight, but on order. The world is on order, it seems, a delivery away from decomposition.
Right now, on any given day, what happens—or more significantly, what doesn’t happen in this small town — is the same as what goes on pretty much everywhere across the USA.
School kids here and nationwide attend school online. Church members attend church online. Restaurants serve takeout, liquor store pickups are curbside, libraries took a page from the courthouses and city halls and are now closed, except the slot where you can drop an overdue book which is a lot like the slot at city hall where you drop off the PUC payment. Everything is at a standstill, it seems, except our bills.
We call in and order groceries, and they, too, are delivered to us curbside. That’s some pretty impressive and expensive service brought to us by grocery store owners, their employees, and significantly, the volunteers helping to make it all happen. But it does happen, and we are appreciative of the great effort.
Hair grows, at least on the young, uncut, unfettered, growing wild and uncombed. At least for some boys. My boy in particular. The barbershops, beauty shops, salons, and independent hairstylists where hair is trimmed, styled, dyed or permed are shut down. Scissors and clippers, combs and brushes, small handheld mirrors and tubes of hair gel await the barber. Await the beautician. Await the long hair of the young. The barber chairs now sit empty.
Gas stations are open. You fill up, stock up, and when you go to pay, you stand on the X, six feet from the next X, which is six feet from the next X, and so on. It’s almost like playing hopscotch only not as much fun. You get to move until you are standing on the X that marks the spot where you pay. The cashier takes your money under a sheet of newly installed plastic that separates you from them.
Gee, you think, it wasn’t this way even two weeks ago.
As for gas, it’s cheaper than dirt. It is now less expensive than any time since the 1950s, but we have no place to go because everything is closed — amusement parks, playgrounds, movie theaters, markets, malls. And even if they were open, right now, we are under the governor’s orders to stay at home unless we are considered an essential worker, only allowed out to shop for groceries or fill our vehicles with gas.
Only the walking trails and streets barren and bereft of cars are home to our lonely walks.
But for all of this pandemic noise, there is joy in sunsets and sunrises, comfort in a friendly email or call from a relative or friend. Books—old friends—are being re-read and enjoyed more now than ever. I’m pretty sure my three cats and dog are hoping this stay-at-home order is never lifted. As I read, one hand is continuously petting one animal or another.
Fishing is neither outlawed nor frowned upon. Camping is A-OK. A nice hike on a trail with the dog works well, except when she pulls too hard, but that’s because I am slower, and she is growing stronger as we skate, slip and slide along the still snowy wooded trails.
When the COVID-19 virus pandemic peters out, and it will, when a vaccination becomes available, we are going to be living on higher ground than we started from. We will be more appreciative of things large and small, picnics and pancake breakfasts, weddings and graduations, baptisms and birthdays too. However, forevermore, every time I sing happy birthday, I’m going to want to wash my hands.
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