Covid-19 Lockdown , A Rural Diary - Easter
Good Friday
And so we woke to the news on Good Friday that N's aunt, his mother's younger and only sister, had passed away. While cruel, it seemed fitting that this highly religious lady had left this world on Good Friday, the day of the crucifixion of Jesus and his death at Calvary. Talking to N's mother, we had a sense that she was in shock, perhaps not fully computing what had happened. Then again, at 89, she has said goodbye to so many friends and family, including her own husband 21 years ago, that perhaps her quiet acceptance was born of repeated experience.
We were told that the hospital allowed one of her daughters, to whom she was closest, to be by her side. A crumb of comfort in these complicated times. She passed away in the graveyard hours between 3am and 4am. I had woken at 3.55am and wondered if she had died and if that was why I had woken, or whether it was mere coincidence.
When I was sending out Easter cards earlier in the week, I noticed an old packet, with only two cards left in it and a yellow post-it note on the outside where I'd written 'Sent to Rosemary last year'. I knew there was no point sending her one this year, as she was in hospital. Suddenly that memorandum became very poignant.
I felt the need to spend the rest of the day out in the garden. On top of Rosemary's death, I had spent the previous day doing a lot of spiritual and healing work and I was feeling drained. I needed to ground myself by doing something practical and connecting with the earth. I planted some allium bulbs and did some pruning and then went up to the vegetable garden to weed and sow seeds of carrot, parsnip and radish. As the moon wanes, it is the optimal time to plant root vegetables as the earth's energies are drawn downwards into the roots of plants during this period. There is nothing more therapeutic than gardening and absorbing oneself in the omnipresent rhythms of nature.
I also threw myself into a deep clean of the kitchen, a practical task reaping satisfying rewards. N went to the supermarket this evening and picked up takeaway curry for us all on his way home. We ate it on our laps in the sitting room, a fire in the grate, and watched an uplifting film - The Blind Side: a true story about a disadvantaged and traumatised black American boy who became a football legend. There is much comfort to be had in the simple things in life.
Easter Saturday
We woke to glorious sunshine and clear, bright air. The views all around us were sublime. I took my first trip out of the village in four weeks to go to the local post office. I waited for a lady with walking difficulties to finish before I went in. I was yearning to help her but knew I mustn't go near her. Instead I said hello and apologised for not helping and she understood and we had a nice little exchange.
There were lots of people out walking in the village and the vegetable box deliveries had arrived at the pub for people to collect. I learned of two more local deaths - one not related to Coronavirus, one which was. I returned home feeling strange and discombobulated and promptly burst into tears. There is such a weird atmosphere out there at the moment: a glorious early Spring day, people going about their business. But it is so not 'business as usual'. I saw one of the local farmers whose family has farmed here for generations. His father passed away from cancer a number of years back and he, reluctantly at the time as he was a qualified electrician, took over the reins. He has settled into the job over time and now I cannot imagine him doing anything else. We had a quick chat as one of the people who died had been helping him out on the farm for 15 years. He had been with him when he collapsed. In death there is life - he is expecting his first child in a few weeks' time. He is also in the height of his lambing season. He remains solid, grounded, reassuring. I think that is what a connection with the land and the rhythm of the seasons brings you. You see life and death and you understand it is part of that eternal cycle. Too many of us hide behind other stuff, choose not to confront the inevitable. But it is there, always...
After a roasted vegetable salad lunch outside in the sunshine, we rang an old friend for a long-overdue catch up. I've known him since we were 15. We were at university together. We had a shared friendship group. We holidayed together. He sang at our wedding - a beautiful rendition of an Italian bel canto song. He had a near death experience in his thirties which changed his outlook on life fundamentally. A lot of time has passed when we have only seen each other infrequently, not helped by our move up north 17 years ago. So many old friends are not seen regularly at all, a fact which saddens me greatly at times.
While we were talking our neighbour dropped round with the gift of a basket of fresh hen's eggs which I gratefully included in my small Easter display at the end of the kitchen table. Fish was on the menu for supper, after which was a FactTime call with some more old friends. If this Lockdown has done nothing else, it has forced us into connecting in ways we were not in the habit of. It was lovely to see their faces and actually feel as if we were sitting across the table from them. The afternoon and evening had proved, once more, that the simplest things can often bring the greatest pleasures.
Easter Sunday
Before the rest of the family was up, I pottered around the kitchen creating a few more little Easter displays. While I'd bought Easter Eggs well before Lockdown, so much has happened since, and time has become so elastic, so shapeless, that the whole festival had rather crept up on me, I have to admit.
We had a late breakfast of coffee and hot cross buns (having failed to have any to hand for Good Friday!) and then went out for a long walk before the forecast rain spoiled the day.
Supper was to be bedevilled eggs, slow-roast lamb shoulder with honey-blanched cabbage, roast potatoes and creamed spinach and then a slice of the bake-off cakes G and L had baked and we had to judge. I started preparing the meal on our return and we FaceTimed the grandmothers and my brother with a glass of fizz in our hands and a fire roaring as the rain poured down outside. They should all have been up here with us, but instead they are all in their own isolation down south. We have never not had Easter together. It has taken a microbe to stop us. Strange times indeed.
And so we woke to the news on Good Friday that N's aunt, his mother's younger and only sister, had passed away. While cruel, it seemed fitting that this highly religious lady had left this world on Good Friday, the day of the crucifixion of Jesus and his death at Calvary. Talking to N's mother, we had a sense that she was in shock, perhaps not fully computing what had happened. Then again, at 89, she has said goodbye to so many friends and family, including her own husband 21 years ago, that perhaps her quiet acceptance was born of repeated experience.
We were told that the hospital allowed one of her daughters, to whom she was closest, to be by her side. A crumb of comfort in these complicated times. She passed away in the graveyard hours between 3am and 4am. I had woken at 3.55am and wondered if she had died and if that was why I had woken, or whether it was mere coincidence.
When I was sending out Easter cards earlier in the week, I noticed an old packet, with only two cards left in it and a yellow post-it note on the outside where I'd written 'Sent to Rosemary last year'. I knew there was no point sending her one this year, as she was in hospital. Suddenly that memorandum became very poignant.
I felt the need to spend the rest of the day out in the garden. On top of Rosemary's death, I had spent the previous day doing a lot of spiritual and healing work and I was feeling drained. I needed to ground myself by doing something practical and connecting with the earth. I planted some allium bulbs and did some pruning and then went up to the vegetable garden to weed and sow seeds of carrot, parsnip and radish. As the moon wanes, it is the optimal time to plant root vegetables as the earth's energies are drawn downwards into the roots of plants during this period. There is nothing more therapeutic than gardening and absorbing oneself in the omnipresent rhythms of nature.
I also threw myself into a deep clean of the kitchen, a practical task reaping satisfying rewards. N went to the supermarket this evening and picked up takeaway curry for us all on his way home. We ate it on our laps in the sitting room, a fire in the grate, and watched an uplifting film - The Blind Side: a true story about a disadvantaged and traumatised black American boy who became a football legend. There is much comfort to be had in the simple things in life.
Easter Saturday
We woke to glorious sunshine and clear, bright air. The views all around us were sublime. I took my first trip out of the village in four weeks to go to the local post office. I waited for a lady with walking difficulties to finish before I went in. I was yearning to help her but knew I mustn't go near her. Instead I said hello and apologised for not helping and she understood and we had a nice little exchange.
There were lots of people out walking in the village and the vegetable box deliveries had arrived at the pub for people to collect. I learned of two more local deaths - one not related to Coronavirus, one which was. I returned home feeling strange and discombobulated and promptly burst into tears. There is such a weird atmosphere out there at the moment: a glorious early Spring day, people going about their business. But it is so not 'business as usual'. I saw one of the local farmers whose family has farmed here for generations. His father passed away from cancer a number of years back and he, reluctantly at the time as he was a qualified electrician, took over the reins. He has settled into the job over time and now I cannot imagine him doing anything else. We had a quick chat as one of the people who died had been helping him out on the farm for 15 years. He had been with him when he collapsed. In death there is life - he is expecting his first child in a few weeks' time. He is also in the height of his lambing season. He remains solid, grounded, reassuring. I think that is what a connection with the land and the rhythm of the seasons brings you. You see life and death and you understand it is part of that eternal cycle. Too many of us hide behind other stuff, choose not to confront the inevitable. But it is there, always...
After a roasted vegetable salad lunch outside in the sunshine, we rang an old friend for a long-overdue catch up. I've known him since we were 15. We were at university together. We had a shared friendship group. We holidayed together. He sang at our wedding - a beautiful rendition of an Italian bel canto song. He had a near death experience in his thirties which changed his outlook on life fundamentally. A lot of time has passed when we have only seen each other infrequently, not helped by our move up north 17 years ago. So many old friends are not seen regularly at all, a fact which saddens me greatly at times.
While we were talking our neighbour dropped round with the gift of a basket of fresh hen's eggs which I gratefully included in my small Easter display at the end of the kitchen table. Fish was on the menu for supper, after which was a FactTime call with some more old friends. If this Lockdown has done nothing else, it has forced us into connecting in ways we were not in the habit of. It was lovely to see their faces and actually feel as if we were sitting across the table from them. The afternoon and evening had proved, once more, that the simplest things can often bring the greatest pleasures.
Easter Sunday
Before the rest of the family was up, I pottered around the kitchen creating a few more little Easter displays. While I'd bought Easter Eggs well before Lockdown, so much has happened since, and time has become so elastic, so shapeless, that the whole festival had rather crept up on me, I have to admit.
We had a late breakfast of coffee and hot cross buns (having failed to have any to hand for Good Friday!) and then went out for a long walk before the forecast rain spoiled the day.
Supper was to be bedevilled eggs, slow-roast lamb shoulder with honey-blanched cabbage, roast potatoes and creamed spinach and then a slice of the bake-off cakes G and L had baked and we had to judge. I started preparing the meal on our return and we FaceTimed the grandmothers and my brother with a glass of fizz in our hands and a fire roaring as the rain poured down outside. They should all have been up here with us, but instead they are all in their own isolation down south. We have never not had Easter together. It has taken a microbe to stop us. Strange times indeed.
Comments
I enjoyed your every word and all the beautiful photos!
It is indeed strange to know that, all over the world, from Asia through Europe to the USA and beyond, we have all been living parallel Lockdown Lives. The most extraordinary shared historical moment (for the worst reason) since World Wars 1 and 2.
I'm happy to hear that Texas will be starting to open back up soon. We had news today that the UK, too, will be beginning a very slow return to the 'new normal' in a week or so, with more details coming soon.
Take care.
The flowers are tulips. I'm sure you know them? They are bulbs and yes, I planted them. When the sun shines, their petals open right out, and close again when the sun leaves them. They are a spring flower and are fabulously colourful and sculptural when you have lots of them in a vase indoors. I do not cut the ones from my garden (which these orange ones are) as I love to see them growing naturally outside and adding much needed colour to the borders.
And yes, it was a great treat to receive fresh hens eggs for Easter! We are very lucky. And so we are too with the views and the space. It makes it easier to breathe :-).