Longtime local journalist Bill Radford and his wife, Margaret, live on 5 acres in the Falcon area with chickens, rabbits, dogs, cats, two noisy parrots, goats and two horses. Contact Bill at billradford3@gmail.com.
When things finally get back to normal, they will no longer seem … normal.It will seem strange, at first, to again see people’s full faces. To see a line outside a movie theater, to watch a crowd roaring from the bleachers, to hug, to high-five.But it will be more than welcome.I don’t remember exactly when I began hearing about a mysterious and deadly virus coming out of China. But COVID-19 exploded into our collective consciousness a year ago this month, with Gov. Jared Polis’ stay-at-home order.It was scary at first. Entering a grocery store and seeing the bare shelves in those early days of hoarding. (Somebody somewhere must still have a room full of toilet paper.) Empty streets in downtown Colorado Springs evoking memories of barren cities in a host of apocalyptic sci-fi movies. Hospital intensive-care units filling up. The death toll climbing.When holed up in our little house on the prairie, the pandemic could seem like a far-away threat ñ- as long as you weren’t going online or turning on the news. The rooster still crowed, the horses still needed fed, the goats were still escape artists. There was a different routine for the inside animals, though. The dogs no doubt wondered, “Why is the woman always here?” Or, being dogs, maybe they just took it for granted. (My wife, Margaret, has worked from home since the pandemic began; I’ve had a hybrid schedule.)Still, the reality of the pandemic never truly vanished. Regular visits to Frankie’s Too in Falcon changed to darting in to get food-to-go. Our daughter called off a holiday visit, not wanting there to be any chance she could bring the virus to us. Game night with friends came to an end. We shifted to online grocery shopping and curbside pickup for a time, but it took too much brain power on planning. Co-workers became faces on a computer screen.And our collection of face masks grew. A neighbor whipped up a couple for us; a family friend started making and selling them. We found them in unexpected spots, such as sturdy and fashionable masks, which became our favorite, made by an employee at Don’s Garden Shop and on display there. I bemoaned the fact that most superhero face masks came in kids’ sizes only.And yes, masks are a pain to wear. I wear glasses and use hearing aids, my five senses long ago having let me down. (I don’t have a sense of smell, either, but it’s not a COVID thing; I was born that way.) My glasses fog up when wearing a mask; the hearing aids may fly off when taking off the mask. But in the Great Mask Wars of 2020, I was firmly in the pro mask camp, my wife having worked in public health and I having been a health reporter for years. In fact, I would develop something akin to road rage when I’d be out in public and watch maskless people simply walk past signs that said, “Do not enter without a face mask.” Or have them pass by in stores minus masks and without social distancing, seemingly without a care in the world. (I took one plane trip last year; I ended up sitting next to the one person on the plane without a face mask. She had a doctor’s note.)I kept my annoyance concealed, though I really wanted to carry around a bunch of masks and go up to people who weren’t wearing one and say, “Oh, you must have forgotten your mask, please, take this one.” I didnít, of course, but I heard of fights at stores between those who believed in the power of masks and those who saw it as an infringement on their rights. And, of course, of store employees facing abuse when they tried to enforce the policy. As if they didn’t have enough stress in their role as “essential workers.”The crisis brought out the worst in people. (Death threats against Dr. Fauci? Really?) And it brought out the best. There were many posts on the online Nextdoor community hub, particularly in the first months, from people who were braving trips to the grocery store and offering to get things for other people. Or had supplies to share. Or just shared the message that we would get through this.Now there’s a light at the end of the tunnel ñ- even though, as a health care worker observed to me, it’s still a pretty long tunnel. (My 87-year-old mother in Kansas City has still to get even her first vaccine shot.) But eventually, maybe this summer, maybe this fall, we will be back in those restaurants full force and catching the latest blockbuster at theaters. I’m hoping gatherings will be back for the Fourth of July, an opportunity to celebrate the resiliency of this nation. If not then, we’ll have Thanksgiving, with families hopefully reunited and plenty to be thankful for.
