Our Thoughts

Sheltered in place

What a year we’ve had so far and we’re only into May.

Spring is supposed to be the time of rebirth and hope. I look like I’ve been rebirthed by a blue whale and there’s little hope for my diet. I’m going to have to get out of my pajamas and put on my swimsuit. That will make me think twice about eating.

It’s all because of the corona – that dreaded lung bug otherwise known as COVID-15 (the 15 pounds gained during the shutdown).

Thanks to the quarantine, I’ve had a month-long affair. What else was there to do after being cooped up feeling bored and not able to go anywhere? I found myself continually going to and from the welcoming door of my love – Kenmore; my big, burly…refrigerator.

I would race to his welcoming door at all hours seeking relief and comfort. From there, I’d guiltily sneak back and join my husband on the couch. We found ways to pass the long arduous hours by doing various algebraic problems…Nah! I’ve never used algebra since tenth grade and I doubted it was going to come in handy during this zombie apocalypse. Instead we did what 99 percent of the population was doing….binge-watched NetFlix.

We started with a movie to take the edge off of the crisis. We chose a light and fluffy flick called “Contagion.” After all, it was the most watched show trending at the time. It detailed the world collapse after a deadly virus struck. It left us terrified with the urge to stock up on more essentials.

After a few calculations, we determined from our house to the store was about two miles and would take approximately 18 minutes; enough time to panic-shop and get back just in time for our next program. Hey, we just calculated the distance between two points--who would have thought algebra would come in handy during the apocalypse.

We arrived back with the vital necessities: TP and ice cream. It should keep us in check for at least another week.

To settle our nerves, we hunkered down with our own individual carton of rocky road and watched “Tiger King.” Afterwards, we realized our life was pretty normal compared to the King’s. We felt so much better that we celebrated with a recommitment to eat less.

We got another container of cookies ‘n’ cream – to split, of course. I said we decided to cut back.

Cindy Moore is the mother of three superlative kids, servant of two self-indulgent felines and wife to one nifty husband. Her ficticious occupation? Archeological Humorist: someone who unearths absurdity and hilarity in strange and unusual places including public restrooms, the lint filter, and church meetings. Most recently, she excavated a find in her neighbor’s bird feeder.

ALWAYS AN ADVENTURE

BY AVALANCHE

Social distancing in the mountains in the mountains

Those of us living out in the remote and rural areas of the country have long been practicing what’s now referred to as “social distancing.” We live off the main highways and out of the urban and suburban zones. Eschewing the accessibility and convenience of nearby malls, grocery stores, doctors’ offices, hardware stores and public services, we’re generally polite and friendly, but we treasure our privacy and personal spaces. Some of our favorite neighbors are the ones we rarely see or hear. Our properties, generally larger than those found in modern planned communities, tend to look a bit more cluttered, sporting parts and pieces of cars, trucks, old fences and sheds that we can’t bear to part with, because you never know when you’ll need something from one of those items, and the hardware store is an hourand-one-half round trip away.

Our preferred activities tend toward the solitary; i.e. fishing, hunting, hiking, skiing and climbing. Lots of motorcyclists live and recreate around here; even when riding in a group, there’s a good distance between group members while rolling down the road. Walking the dogs is one of the more social activities, and the mutts playing with each other at the ends of their respective leashes provide a nice, safe, standoff distance for their owners.

Living several miles away from the nearest store tends to behoove residents to keep freezers and pantries full, as a rock could fall on the highway and no one can get to town for days at a time. Besides, once at home, driving to town is a distasteful activity, when one could be outside enjoying the mountains.

Work leans toward the “essential service” side of things. Road work, water system repair and maintenance, electrical work and other blue-collar activities provide occupations for many here. There are several health-care personnel in our neighborhood, quite busy these days, and keeping their fingers crossed that they don’t become statistics.

Regarding a shift away from normal, our business and government leaders have long promoted this area as a vacation getaway, with good cause; it’s a great place to be. Outdoor recreation brings in a lot of money here, except now everything is shut down. There’s much less demand for “essential services” when everything else is closed. Our local three-county region is officially considered a virus “hot-spot,” but many from out of the area suffer from the delusion that this is going to be a great place to hang out for a while, so they can avoid the storm raging back home. Lots of out-of-state and out-of-area license plates adorn many of the vehicles still traveling here. Trailhead parking areas are overflowing with many of these nomads, who haven’t gotten the message that we’re closed for business. Our two local hospitals have a combined capacity of about 75 beds, which serve a full-time population of about 40,000. There’s not much vacancy at the medical inn during normal times, let alone now. With most hotels and campgrounds shuttered, there’s not much vacancy anywhere.

Yesterday, signs went up a few miles away at the adjacent county line stating that non-residents and non-essential travel are prohibited, and a permit is required to enter the county. How they’re going to enforce that order remains to be seen, but the sentiment is shared by many of us here, and in other remote areas. Far to the east, in Appalachia, a county placed concrete barriers on their main roads (including a highway popular with motorcyclists) with a similar county-issued order – residents only.

There have already been discussions here in the neighborhood about making this into a gated community. Logistically it would be a simple matter, but it would take a big leap in mindset and attitudes - which could occur overnight.

We’re doing OK out here, at least for now. However, the welcome mat has been withdrawn, and while the barricades haven’t gone up just yet, labor and materials are being planned out. Who knows what the next few days and weeks will bring during this strange time.

Avalanche is a functional illiterate who left the St. Louis area three decades ago in search of adventure. He enjoys motorcycling and all things outdoors. He lives with his wife and dogs.