10 Days of Quarantine, or Things I've Learned
It has been exactly 10 days since the last time I “left my house”. While it is true that most of my work is done in my home, and that for the most part, my days are not much different than they were from BC (Before Coronavirus) times, there is an undeniable difference in the weight of the air. This singular shift of an act that I normally engage in freely, to one that I engage in under the enforcement of the government, despite the good intention that it will end up saving countless lives, perhaps even those of my very own neighbors, my very own family, still, unavoidably, leaves me with a feeling that something is now missing.
Yet despite the empty feeling, I go on. I wake up as I do; I work as I do; and inevitably, I learn things as I do.
*
I’ve learned (and perhaps this is the greatest thing I have learned so far) that the bright yellow of a daffodil is beautiful when paired with the pale pink of a hyacinth.
All my life, I’ve hated pure yellow daffodils- the kind you’re confronted with in every store come spring. This yellow daffodil, so solid in its color, so devoid of nuance in its form, makes it so that I’m ever in dismay that it’s become the archetype of its race. - And it is this very type of daffodil, and just a singular bulb of it, which year after year, reemerges each spring on my front lawn, drawing much attention to- instead of the wonderful season to come- the paltriness of our house’s spring borders.
This past fall, I undertook to change this. A handful of new varieties of daffodils and hyacinths were bought, and placed in the ground, while the old bulbs were hauled off along with whatever was leftover of the new batch, and planted in beds along the side of the house, which, I figured could be used for cut flowers. I had no intention for the beds to have any semblance of design; but right there in front of me, was perhaps one of the most beautiful sights I had ever seen.
-Perhaps the beauty is enhanced by the surprise of it all. Perhaps it is due to how little faith I have in the pure yellow daffodil. - In a sudden, I saw two little yellow daffodil heads, bobbing slightly downwards, towards the little pale pink florets of a hyacinth, which were bending their necks away from the central stalk, beginning to unfurl their petals. The combination of colors and shapes struck me so, I gasped. In a sudden, the details of the daffodils burst forth. The normally garish ruffles of the trumpet became delicate; the whole face turned divine, and glowed, as if composed of golden silk, in the afternoon sun.
I now see yellow in a completely different light, (and furthermore I see that choice of partner, though always an important matter, has, after this experience, become an even more weighty matter.)
a paltry depiction of aforementioned vision
*
I’ve learned that the mourning dove still calls.
Working in the garden the other day, I heard a hooting, which all my life I thought issued from an owl. When I looked up, I saw, that it was, in fact, not an owl, but something that looked more like a pigeon. It perched on a branch of a maple tree fifteen or so feet away from me, and upon seeing it, I called back with my best imitation of its initial call. It shifted its head and body a couple of times as it was, I assume, listening to me. I wondered if it had become confused, or frightened, but a few moments later, it gave a reply: Woo- ooh! I called to it again- Woo-ooh! And it called back at me again, inching closer towards me as it did so. -And this went on for longer than I thought it ever would, but shorter than anyone ever wishes it would, as soon after, someone jogging past startled my new friend, signaling the end of our conversation.
Later that night, I looked up bird calls, and discovered the species of my new friend: the mourning dove. I fell asleep wondering what shrubs I could plant that would yield fruits to their liking. The next morning, I visited my mother in her bedroom as she was already awake, but still lazing in bed, checking the news on her phone. I sat down next to her, and we began sharing what news we’d found out in the evening hours that had passed. In the midst of this, a mourning dove, (astonishing if it was the same one from the day before), flew over, and perched at her windowsill. The bird looked in, and I called to it, Woo-ooh!. Woo-ooh!, it called back.
The dove and I went back and forth like this for quite some time, until we were interrupted by my mother shooting up and out of bed, who had decided she had had enough of whatever this was that was taking place before her.
*
I’ve learned that in the midst of “sheltering-in-place”, many people are taking jogs and walks outside with their families. Yet despite all the bustling activity of these families on the street, if I happen to be outside as the same time as them, I am still, nevertheless, alone.
I seem to be the only one, at least so it appears to me, on my street, tending to a garden. I work alone for hours in the afternoon, but when 5 o’clock hits, the herds come roaming. They come in singles, doubles, and packs of threes and fives. And the packs meet with other packs, and everyone seems to know each other; but no one knows me. I wonder where I have been all this time to be so oblivious of the fact that I have, all this time, lived in a community highly in touch with one another; and yet I am more suspect that they’ve really just met earlier this week, new friends they’ve made through their new routine exodus.
Despite all the socializing, no one acknowledged me, save for a little girl, perhaps about 2 or 3 of age, who, not knowing any better, ambled away from the crowd, and towards the side of my neighbor’s house, stopping in a spot where she felt she could better watch me work. She stood there, eyes wide, mouth open. Her mother followed behind her, watching her watching me, and encouraged her to say hello. I waved and smiled, saying hello first, thinking perhaps the girl was shy; but she just continued to stare, wide eyed, mouth open.
(- I’ve learned curiosity persists, as does wonder. )
*
Of my neighbors, I’ve learned, that still, what I know best of them is what is on their lawns.
The neighbors across the street from me have a patch of bright, butter yellow daffodils, which, as we know, are not quite to my liking, but are nonetheless, incapable of keeping any viewer’s spirits down. Little stars nodding happily in the breeze.
“I wandered lonely as a cloud…” Wordsworth now coming to mind…
But if you were to ask me what they did for a living, what foods they like to eat, what shows they like to watch, I’d have no idea. I just know that after their daffodils, come their magnolias.
*
I’ve learned that throughout all of this, I have indeed been saddened that many can’t harness the self control the world seeks: to keep themselves at home, away from others, for the sake of others. Yet I’ve also learned that I am humbled by the persistence of personality. After all, I too, am of this unchangeable tribe. It just happens to be a coincidence that the activities which are most pleasurable to me happen to be similar to the guidelines of the current quarantine. If ever there comes a day the government issues a call for people to stay out of their homes, socializing in close quarters with many people for months on end, my demise would be imminent.
Even if that were someday to be the case, the following thing I’ve learned, I believe, will continue to be applicable, always:
The world can stop, stores can close, livelihoods can end, but still, magnolias will bloom, leaves will unfurl, and wonder will persist. The social will socialize, the quiet stay quiet. Loneliness prevails, but so does friendship. Rules might change, but the essence of a being does not. 5 o’clock will strike, and everyone will wander out, in search of something, for to be human means that there will always be something one perceives to be missing. Somewhere in the world, always, there will be someone, feeling in his heart, the strike of the 5 o’clock bell.