Isolation Chronicles + A Wild Foraged Spring Flower Arrangement

Tools by Barebones

My eyes opened softly and blinked away the sleep of another fitful night. I yawned and stretched leisurely as I looked out the window above my bed to greet the grey spring morning. There was nothing to do and nowhere to go so I welcomed the opportunity to linger in bed. It was our first day off in weeks. A welcomed rest, but gifted at the cost of being unemployed due to the national mandate to isolate and halt any non-essential business. As my husband and I lay in bed, propped up on our forearms with linen sheets tangled around our waists, we quietly gazed out the window searching for answers in our minds' eyes. As nice as it felt to finally be home while the panic about the coronavirus pandemic continued in the outside world, we couldn’t help but wonder how we’d survive the next few months financially. The uncertainty of sustaining our health and the health of our family members also muddled our quandering thoughts.

Just then, a deep vibration began to rumble beneath our tiny home. It sounded like a landslide of boulders rolling one over the other. A thunderous sound ripped through the earth to the sky above, and straight through my bones along the way. We bolted upright and watched our walls tremble while the beams creaked in our house. The hanging pots and pans rattled and clanked in the kitchen below our bedroom loft. As the ground heaved, our house swayed back and forth. For a brief moment we felt weightless, floating in limbo, past and future non-existent. We didn’t run for cover or brace ourselves in the doorway like we’d been taught as children in school. We just knelt there on our bed, half clothed, watching the world shake and tremble around us. 

Soon after the rumbling subsided we found ourselves in the garage haphazardly trying to gather emergency supplies. “Could this be preceding a bigger quake? …  Fill the water jugs! ... How much propane do we have?  ... Get the blankets and the lanterns. ... I grabbed the protein bars and put them in the backpack with the first aid kit.  ... My car needs gas! … Why the hell don’t we have a 72 hour emergency kit!? As soon as I have a job again I’m buying two. ... Can we handle a pandemic and a natural disaster at the same time? This is the last thing we need right now. ... How much time do we have before another quake hits?”  Thoughts strung together incoherently, and after a time I found myself pacing the garage and staring at random camping gear strewn about the floor not knowing what to think or do next. 

I took a couple of deep breaths, walked inside and turned on the news. Geologists said that the chances of another quake larger than the 5.7 quake that hit this morning were 1 in 300. We’d likely just experience aftershocks. My knees felt shaky, my shoulders pinched my ears, my mind twisted in knots, but my gut told me we’d be okay. I took a few more deep breaths. Our home was completely intact and nobody in the city had been injured, but the earthquake was strong enough to shake me off what little ground I’d been holding onto. It rattled me from a state of cautious uncertainty to complete fear. We were utterly unprepared for the circumstances we had suddenly found ourselves in -  a pandemic, double unemployment, and an earthquake. That didn’t sit well with me. So I did what I always do when my ends feel fried; I escaped into nature to calm my mind.

Foraging tools by Barebones

The next morning, we rose early to walk in the field before the rail fell. All was quiet and peaceful - a blessed moment between us and the wild sage. Each touch of the blossom, each step on the damp sand, and each breath of fresh air was a divine gift from God. In contrast to the extreme stress of the past week, this simple outing was perhaps one of the most gratitude-filled moments of my life. It was enough to loosen the constriction in my lungs, drop my shoulders, and remind me that I do have solid ground to walk on. It reminded me that although we cannot see what lies waiting around the next bend, we all walk this path together. It was a moment that moved me to tears in gratitude for how fortunate I am to be alive, to be safe, and to have just enough of what I need to keep going. For a moment there, standing in the sagebrush looking at the foggy hills, the fear dissipated and a smile full of hope spread across my face. And it felt good.  

I brought home a few snips of wild blossoms, mountain mahogany, and sagebrush to keep me company while we hunker down for the next month. And now this wild foraged spring flower arrangement dresses up my windowsill and fills my home with the tender smell of spring. My escape into nature and the ritual of crafting with flowers to create beauty in my home was a deeply grounding ritual I’ll continue to revisit as long as I’m able to walk these fields. It has been one week since the quake but new discomforts pull at me in the undercurrent of my psyche. Each new day brings a unique cascade of complexities to consider. As fresh produce begins to run low, I turn to my garden beds to sow seeds for future meals. And as days seem to become more complex, I make do with what I have and turn to simpler ways of living. This is the essence of slow living after all, and I’m glad that I’ve established daily habits and practices that support this new normal the rest of the world is getting a taste of. 

Times are indeed uncertain for everyone, and I don’t have many answers. I too am riding the waves of emotions and staring down a muddled mess of questions. Although, in this second week of isolation, I’ve come to a place of acceptance and discovered hope along the way. Even though I find myself unemployed and don’t know what the future holds, I see that millions of people are still not as fortunate I am in these circumstances. With gratitude in my heart, I look for ways to offer support - a digital outstretched hand of friendship, a contribution to a creator so they can keep their business afloat, a safe distance to protect another’s health, a phone call to check in, a video chat to entertain the children so parents can have a moment of peace, and a message of love if nothing else. I hold space for the mile-long list of emotions I am experiencing as well. I realize that I don't need to transmute this global contraction into something gold and shiny, nor do I need to let this experience pull me down into an abysmal state. I don’t need to utilize this time to be insanely productive, or to constantly keep busy. I just need to be here now and sit with what is happening in each moment. I’m giving myself permission to experience all the emotions that bubble up. I’m giving myself permission to rest, to be idle, to follow the flow of my creativity, to do whatever I need in the moment. 

While we as a global community continue to navigate this period of isolation, quarantine, lockdowns, economic recession, and everything else that these circumstances will inevitably trigger, my hope is that we may allow ourselves to be present during this global pause. My hope is that we may discover a way to create a new normal using the lessons we are learning in this experience. We are experiencing a collective trauma in real time, and there is something deeply moving about that. Despite the uncertainty, concern, and fear, this is what inspires hope within me. 

I’m hopeful that this collective experience is reminding us that nobody is immune to suffering and that we are all more similar than we are different. I’m hopeful that this experience is illustrating (on a very physical level) how interconnected all beings are, and how each of our actions have a ripple effect into every corner of the planet. I’m hopeful that this global pause is creating an opportunity for us to rewrite the script for a new pathway forward - a pathway that builds bridges across generations, businesses, and cultures. I hope that we will not rush back into old habits to resume life as normal, but that we may use this as an opportunity to create a world that is more compassionate and less polarized, more thrifty and less wasteful, more slow and less rushed, more focused on meeting our essential needs and less focused on frivolous distractions. Even though our pathway forward may be momentarily shrouded in mist, I choose to believe that our future together looks bright. I choose to be hopeful, dear friend. 

What are you hopeful this trying experience will bring about?