Signs of the Times

 It has been a year—a long year, since the pandemic began.   I have been walking into school to teach my classes online and my neighborhood has reminded me of the Indian restaurant downtown, where they just keep adding layers of decorations without removing the past. Walking to school walks back through a wild and tumultuous time.

There are still bears smiling in windows, especially attic windows, from last spring, when we all stayed inside, afraid of a virus, until we could not stand it any longer and went out for a walk. The idea was, kids would count bears on their walks. Bears and positive signs raised our spirits when we could not talk with our neighbors because we did not even see them. A group prowled the streets, hanging up fliers of collective action and support that read “All we have is each other.” Another group formed to make cloth masks for the community. We were isolated, but also  feeling  adventurous, like we were rising to a challenge that we could meet, together.

As spring went on and we learned more about how the virus spread, people moved outside and began some extensive yard work. Ranchland houses built deer fences and put in raised garden beds for the first time. At least two built in free libraries as well. Those boxes will raise another crop of tomatoes this summer. Others took on home repair projects. One neighbor turned the front yard into their living room, where they drank coffee and worked until the rains came back in the fall. Houses were painted.

In early summer, Black Lives Matter signs appeared in dozens of yards. One group created an entire series, black spray paint and stencils, each with the name of an African American killed by the police, and distributed them. Others went to marches and then placed their signs in windows. Still others bought a sign and planted it in the yard beside the “In this house, we believe…”  Through the winter, the signs reminded us that the fight is not over.

With summer, came the campers. People bought camping vans so that they could travel safely through the mountains, which were packed all summer long. These vehicles are parking on the streets now, waiting. Others moved their old RVs into quiet spots where they could live undisturbed. Ward Five leaves quiet people alone.

In the fall, Biden signs appeared everywhere. OSU created a sign to remind Beavers to wear masks and stay apart, not partying in small apartments. For the first time, there were For Rent signs in September, indicating that not all of the students came back to town when college went online.  Meanwhile, some people transformed their deep porches with lights, chairs, and blankets, so they could still meet friends, outside, as the weather turned. Christmas lights went on right after Halloween and have not gone off yet.

 And then, the long rainy winter. One person wrote “400,000 Corona Virus deaths and you’re hosting a party” on loose leaf paper and strung it across her windows, facing a beer pong table. Masks blew into the streets and gutters. The half finished sheds at school faded in the rain. More people were camping on the streets and the news was grim. Teddy bears felt very far away—we were just trying to get through the week.

It’s been a year. A long, hard, and lonely year.  But, walking my neighborhood—my ward—I am hopeful. This will end.