Little House on the Prairie

The novelty of living "Little House on the Prairie", where only Pa goes to town, is beginning to fade.

Like so many people, I have already worked through all the DIY pioneer tasks: I made bread, pickled vegetables, started plugs of herb seeds to plant in warm weather. My ill-fated attempt at making cheese from a gallon of whole milk produced a wizened tennis ball that tasted like wallpaper paste.

I'm itchy to travel but no country will admit me.  I'd settle for neighboring states but Wisconsin has already warned us away--their health care system won't accomodate an influx of city people.  

Now that Minnesota has established adequate testing capacity, there's talk of contract tracing by the state to prevent flare ups.  Some people are rattled by the perceived loss of privacy, but not me.  For more than 8 years, my mobile phone has auto recorded my location 24/7.  This works as an automated diary, which fills the gaps as my memory erodes. What was the name of that cute restaurant we visited in northern Wisconsin?  I've got it, plus the address and time/date. What year was that family vacation?  It's all there, in red dots on a world map with tallies of miles per trip, cities visited, etc.  But so far this year, my little red dot marks my home address, day after day. 

Over a month ago I talked with a German friend who has a civil service job in their judicial system, an essential position.  We had time to chat while he was quarantined at home for 14 days because contact tracing revealed that he'd been exposed at work.  He wasn't infected, as it turned out, and returned to work on schedule.  I noted his country's response to this threat was very different than ours.  Another contrast was the mask policy in Czechia.  In February, my friends there were sewing masks and by March 19, the penalty for being on the street without a mask was a crushing fine, 10,000 Czech Korona which is almost $400 US.   My international friends ask about rules in 'my country' and I have to remind them that the United States are not united for purposes of pandemic response. 

Every potential meeting (other than Zoom) starts a mental calculation: what's my health risk and what's their circle of contacts for exposure and what level of risk is acceptable?  Our friend who is immunocompromised is maintaining a strict bubble of safety at her cabin. Her son came to visit for Mother's Day, camped in the yard, brought his own food and only met outdoors at a distance.  We had an outdoor gathering in lawn chairs with our kids.  Our son is dating a nurse who works on a Covid-19 intensive care unit.  I reasoned that a nurse trained in sterile procedure might actually have less viral exposure than people who absentmindedly touch the produce at the grocery store, then their faces. 

One thing I really miss is weekly sessions with my choir group, River Heights Chorale, and that's not likely to resume until after herd immunity. There's just not a workaround for 60 people standing shoulder to shoulder, expelling air.  Last week a choir friend joined me to sing our hearts out in harmony in my backyard, facing different directions, six feet apart.  I hope our neighbors are tolerant. It seems that our limited social life will occur outdoors for the next months.