The "Stay at Home" Pictures

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Kelsey Green, Sodom, Madison County, NC 04-15-20

Leslie and I drove over to Sodom on Friday to visit with Kelsey and buy some plants for our garden. It was Leslie’s first time out of the house since she broke her foot four weeks ago so she was ready to get out. In honesty I was more than ready, too, to see a different place and a fresh face.

It was a beautiful day - sunny and bright with a cooling breeze. Kelsey was working in her greenhouses when we got there. She owns and operates, Our Friendly Allies, www.ourfriendlyallies.com, a nursery that specializes in medicinal herbs, along with edible plants. It was her busiest time of year and her folks, Sherry and Eric, had her boys for a few days affording her long, uninterrupted days to work.

I’ve not been dealing well with our mandated isolation. Lethargic, lacking motivation, accomplishing the bare minimum. Wondering if time will be like this for the rest of my life. Masks. No travel. Fear of being out in public. Little to say that hasn’t been said.

Seeing Kelsey, and other young people in our community, is heartening. They adapt to necessary changes and take the necessary precautions. They maintain distance, but offer abundant air hugs. They do their work. For Kelsey, having her own herb farm has been a long-held dream. And while this virus has been more than a little disruptive, it has not altered the dream.

The "Stay at Home" Pictures

It’s hard for me to believe this beautiful young boy turns 40 today.
All parents understand there is something special about their first born,
And so it is with Ben.
An easy child.
Predictably, a more difficult teen.
An adult who knows his own mind.
At 40, a delight to have in our lives.
Maybe not quite as cute as he was at five,
But special beyond compare.
Happy Birthday, Son.

The "Stay at Home" Pictures

Six feet.
Graves.
Fathoms.
That magical height I aspired to,
But never came close to achieving.
It just wasn’t in the genes.

Six feet,
Our imposed social distance.
No hugging,
No coming close.
Gifts exchanged at a distance.
We are all wearing masks,
Afraid to share the same air.
This loss of touch is unsettling to me.
As if, it, too, is not in my genes.

Six feet.
I look at this photograph of men digging their friend’s grave.
The intimacy of it.
The sharing of close space.
The smell of sweat and
Men wiping their brows.
Tasting the earth.
The stories you know they are telling.
Will we ever see intimacy such as this again?

The "Stay at Home" Pictures

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Catherine Galeano Amberg. Mom at nineteen, Washington, DC, 1940

Were she still alive, my mother would have been 99 years old today. She died in 2007. I’ve been thinking about her a lot lately.

My mom was a first generation American, born to Italian parents, and raised in the Italian ghetto in Washington, DC. She achieved much in her life. From a poor upbringing she went to secretarial school and on to a much decorated career as an administrative assistant in the Army Corps of Engineers. She survived the Great Depression and World War II, the social upheaval of the sixties and seventies, and the terrifying beginnings of the 21st Century. She and my father built a home in the suburbs and raised their four children there. They retired comfortably. They travelled frequently to see their children and grandchildren, and to Italy to see Mom’s family and other far flung destinations. She had come a long way from Morse Street in NE Washington.

But my mother was never the easiest person to satisfy. I think it is part of the immigrant DNA to always strive for more, for both her and her children. As she aged, becoming more infirm, and often alone, her oft-repeated refrain was, “Where are the Golden Years?”

How does one answer that question from one’s own mother? To me, it seemed she had achieved a lot, done more than she ever dreamed of doing as a young woman of nineteen. Why would you want more?

I don’t put much stock in Hallmark holidays or catchy phrases, so the idea of Golden Years kind of washes over me. I’ve always thought you just lived your life until you didn’t. Yes, I expect to slow down as I age, travel more, visit and walk, and not worry so much about stuff - money, children, drama. But as for some kind of golden light illuminating my life after age 65 that grants entrance into some entitled senior enclave - I don’t think so.

So, now, firmly entrenched in my Golden Years, I’m still working, traveling to see the children, friends, family, and faraway places, and looking forward to more of it. I move more slowly and deliberately.

But suddenly, we (all of us) find ourselves in the midst of a game changing event - something, be we young or old - that will irrevocably mark the rest of our lives. We hear, “Stay At Home. Wear Masks Outside. Avoid Travel. Keep Six Foot Distance.” Let us hope this event doesn’t erase the memory of Golden Years, however illusory that memory may be.

The "Stay at Home" Pictures

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Our driveway, PawPaw, Madison County, NC 03312020

I saw it on my walk.
Lifeless in the culvert pipe.
Firm and cool to the touch.
The tail the giveaway.
Hairless, the body possum gray.
Born dead, or aborted from its mother’s pouch.
Perhaps it lost its grip and fell out on its own.
Either way, it’s dead now.

I’m not one to mourn possums.
I don’t like to see them killed randomly.
But when they kill our chickens, they must be dispatched.
They kill in a most gruesome way,
sucking blood from the bird’s neck and head,
leaving the meat to rot.
I won’t worry about this one.

Yet, this baby’s death touched me.
Partly, it was knowing
It would never experience whatever joy a possum feels.
The taste of chicken blood.
Hanging by its tail from tree limbs.
Testing their ability to cheat death by deception.
It would miss all of that, and more, I’m sure.

Rather, my emotion was about the time we’re living in.
Socially distant.
Suspended.
Fretting, worried, scared,
for ourselves, our families, our communities.
Wondering how long this will last and how it will play out.
How will we know when it’s safe to come out and play once again?
Emotion so overwhelming that
the death of a baby possum
leaves me saddened for the world we live in.