The Best of Times, The Worst of Times

 

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of light, it was the season of darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.”

― Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities

This quote from Dickens kept popping into my mind this past week - every phrase so perfect for a description of our world in 2020.  As we once again came to the end of one year and the beginning of another, there were likely many who say 'good riddance' to 2020, who think of it as the worst year of their lives.  And for some, perhaps it was - those who lost loved ones, those who suffered unbearable economic hardship, those who are exhausted from caring for others in hospitals and homes.  

But before we frame 2020 as a year of strife - political strife, racial strife, pandemic strife, personal strife - let's not lose sight of the good that it brought.   Household members spent more time together, parents played with and taught their children, kids spent more time with siblings, neighbours helped neighbours. Employers found ways to accommodate customers and employees, while keeping them safe; and communities showed appreciation for essential workers in health care and trucking and essential retail services.  Beyond Covid, we saw increased awareness of and activism around racism, and consciousness-raising on the fragility of democracy as our southern neighbours faced one of the toughest political fights in history. 

Let us not lose sight of  ways in which we have grown as individuals - reading more, learning new online skills, thinking outside the box in order to celebrate virtually with others, being able to give and to receive with graciousness and understanding, doing things we may not like (like cancelling travel plans or wearing masks) for the greater good of the community.  

On a personal level, I had to cancel a long-overdue trip to the States to visit my daughter. It was scheduled for just days after the March 2020 border lockdown.  But the rest of March, and the rest of spring and summer, afforded me some amazing hiking adventures on our relatively covid-free (at that time) island.  Looking through my photos, I see I hiked at least thirty different trails and parks that spring and summer, several of them new to me and more challenging than I had done for some years. 

And, perhaps because of cleaner air due to less traffic, or perhaps because being in nature is such a wonderful antidote to Covid restrictions, I saw dozens of plants and birds that I hadn't seen before or had seen only rarely and spotted wee familiar creatures too.

It seemed like we saw barred owls almost every hike this spring and summer! 

A cute little mouse nibbles at some seeds

We saw lots more red-breasted sapsuckers this year too.

This was a first for me - Gnome Plant!

Turkey Tail fungi

My favourite and rarest sighting was a wee little Northern pygmy owl - no more than 6 or 7 inches tall - perched in a tree on the top of Little Mountain, near home.  They are one of the most elusive birds on the island, and 'blue listed'  (meaning of special concern).  

The tiny Northern Pygmy Owl.
What you see on the branch beside him is an "owl pellet" - regurgitated dinner.

And while I was photographing him, I heard the beautiful strains of violin music drifting through the trees, acoustics enhanced by the steep cliffs framing the valley below and the hills that rose on the other side.  I followed the sound, and to my surprise there was a young man taking violin lessons on the top of a cliff.  I couldn't resist sneaking a couple of shots as I listened to the amazing sound:

With Eldercollege and Art Classes cancelled  (online courses hold no appeal to me), I had more 'downtime' - to bake, to read, to walk, to wander the beach, to sort and tidy, to reflect.  Despite the fact that most of my pre-covid obligations were self-imposed (like classes or organizations which I chose to join), it was a relief to be free of such obligations, to have fewer decisions to make, and thus to enjoy - for a while - a smaller world. 

And that smaller world came with many  more surprises.  As I wandered my city, using both familiar routes and discovering new ones,  I learned so much that I didn't know about my own neighbourhood - oases of beauty, snippets of history. I found a 'rain garden' next to the firehall, complete with signage explaining its significance.  I saw a flourishing community garden beside a walkway I'd never explored.  I read about the history of our Arts Centre and the origins of the huge trees along Memorial Avenue.  I spent time in the Arboretum, learning about the many varieties of trees planted there.  I explored back lanes, dead end streets, and walkways that provided glimpses in interesting back yards. 

I saw baby quail race after their mother along a walkway that I hadn't known existed.  I watched spring burst forth, fearing nothing, sending flora and fauna out in the neighbourhoods, the yards, the lanes, the forests.  I saw doe and twin fawns check out the front porch of a house down the road, and baby bunnies nibble greens along the pathways.  I heard the call of the eagles that nest near a ravine alongside some little-used steps off a rocky section of beach, heard Northern flickers pound their mating call on the metal electrical box near our complex, watched murmurations of sandpipers flash their white bellies as they moved from tidal pool to tidal pool on the beach. 

Mama quail keeping an eye on me
after shepherding her babies into the brush.

Maggie benefitted from our city, beach, and park walks too - not just physically, but mentally as she increased her repertoire of parkour skills, jumping higher than I would believe possible, learning to weave around empty parking lot posts or hop from stump to stump and log to log in a local park.  She strengthened her back legs while challenging her brain and conquering some of her anxieties. 

There's lots for dogs to do on a city walk besides peeing and sniffing!

Hey, look at me Mama! 

Pffft 
It must have been 'Tongue Out Tuesday'

On our walks I saw and heard evidence of  a caring community - a table in front of a house offering free food for those in need, a tub of apples at the end of a driveway,  tributes to our essential workers through hearts in windows and  noise making at 7 PM and signs at intersections reading "We see you, we thank you, we appreciate you!" 

As our world grew smaller, neighbours in my 22-unit complex became closer.  We helped each other with errands to reduce exposure to strangers in stores, we started a monthly newsletter (to which I am a contributor - back to the world of writing!), we had physically-spaced garden parties (when that was permitted) and celebrated each person's birthdays.  Our oldest resident, who turned 90, received a visit from the firefighters - their gift to the city was to drive by with siren and lights for children's and senior's birthdays.

More downtime meant more time for following the news and reading background material to better understand racism, to critically analyze political issues, to reflect on the trajectory our world seemed to be taking - both positive and negative. And it meant learning to recognize when I felt stressed from information-overload, when it was time to shut down the computer, to turn off the TV or radio.  I spent a lot less time online this year than any previous year since the advent of the web.  And I'm thankful for that.  It made for more beach time, more forest time, more new authors to discover, more recipes to try, more sunsets and sunrises.

I love watching the eagles walk - 
they stomp around like "someone's gonna be in trouble"

Watching the birds feeding at low tide is always fascinating.  
This gull is eating a small crab.

Another first for me - an egg yolk jelly! 

And yet another first - squid eggs!

Sunset from my front door

In the fall and on into this winter, some of my outdoor pleasures came to a grinding halt.  An accident while camping ended the fall hiking for my hiking/camping buddy. Then  spiraling covid cases brought in new restrictions to movement outside our communities and reduced the size of our social 'bubble'  from six to just one or two people for those of us who live alone (and no visitors for two or more person households).  Further restrictions on outdoor gatherings put an end to our garden parties.  

But the community still finds ways to connect, to help, to cheer, to appreciate, and Maggie and I are still able to walk around town and on the beach, to visit with one neighbour on either side, to talk to family and friends via phone and internet.  And, yes, I even attempted to 'zoom' with my family on Christmas day - I was able to see and hear them, but they could not see me as my computer apparently doesn't have the right video program. Blech - I still hate technology. But I tried.  I miss my friends and family, and Maggie does too.

No more walks with Pat and the Poms for the moment -
they live in a different community from Maggie and me.

And so we move into a new year, still restricted by covid, still concerned about global political struggles,  still aware of the ever-present social inequalities in our world, still missing friends and family and hikes beyond my community.  But spring is but a few weeks away.  Spring, who cannot be contained or quarantined.  Spring, who will provide an everchanging kaleidoscope of colour, making each walk an adventure.  Spring - a promise of the future, like a phoenix rising from the ashes of winter. 

These are from last spring's walks.....but it won't be long before we see them again.

 And with hard work and cooperation and wise leadership, our world will emerge from covid restrictions and covid deaths, from political mayhem and violence and fear, and keep the best of what they've learned and experienced,  while leaving behind the worst of it.  We shall enter this new year eager for new opportunities, new possibilities, filled with new hope for the future.

Let's go with that.  Hope. Possibilities.   New Beginnings. We can make the Best of times out of these Worst of times.  We can do it. 

Chalk drawing in a local parking lot when the first wave of covid hit the island.

Stay safe, my friends, and stay positive.  Happy New Year.