96. March: the In-Between time

Yesterday marked the one-year anniversary of the first Covid-19 case in Oregon. There are now three vaccines, and herculean efforts at production, distribution, and administration of vaccine shots into arms of the vulnerable—in the U.S., more than 75,000 have received at least one shot—might make it seem like some corner has been turned.

But in “in-between times” corners aren’t trustworthy and the future is always uncertain. And March is a tricky month. We’ve made it through this much winter and have enough wood to make heat for 2 or 3 or maybe even 4 months. But we don’t know how wet or cold these months will be. We don’t know how hot or fiery—or damp—the summer will be. We have averages and we have projections—but who predicted the 300,000 Oregonians left without electricity in February, the storms and cold and loss of water in Texas? 

I got my first Covid shot on February 9, and am due for number 2 on March 19. So, I am in-betweener—as are many of the 75,000. Between me and that vaccination stand production and distribution hurdles, government policy, and March weather. The days are longer—but not yet long. Some days are sunnier and warm, but not all days. There’s a foot of snow on the ground, which sunshine and 40 degrees today turned sticky and then slushy in places. “Slush” is the in-between state of water and snow; the sound of the word is the sound of in-between.

The tantalizing prospect of declining infections and, eventually, immunity, is almost too much for many. Mask wearing at the local Safeway is slipping. A teacher in one of our open schools tested positive and some students are quarantined. Bend high school students, excited to get back to school, had a party and passed the Covid around; school opening delayed. It reminds me of taking off my jacket and overshoes and stuffing them under a porch on my way to fourth grade school in northern Minnesota—mothers insisted and we insisted not. It reminds me of another fourth grade no-no—skating on soft ice.

But at least we skated together and hid our coats and shoes together. Today, in-between students and parents and seniors are on small patches of soft ice, each alone, or in small “pods” (we had to adapt a word) that will melt or freeze again until March makes up its mind. 

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