Positives of the Pandemic: 2
Because I am no longer leaving my house, parking my car blocks away from my school, moving up, down, and around four floors of the building, or pounding pavement down city streets visiting friends, dining out, or taking in a museum in the city, I have definitely needed more fresh air and movement.
Incorporating daily (or almost daily) walks is helping me to notice new things in the neighborhood I have lived nearly all my life.
I have seen more robins and cardinals in the last few months than I have probably seen in the last 30 years combined. Sure, every spring I would see a few here and there, landing and flitting away from my parents’ trees and stone wall. But every time I venture out even for a 20-minute stroll, I count so many of these creatures living their lives.
I have walked down streets I have only ever driven down before now. This has been absolutely lovely for a few reasons. I have enjoyed really being able to see all the different houses that line these streets, so distinct from one another, each with their own character and personality. I have seen homes that look like cottages belonging to the English countryside, tall colonials that seem to have been plucked from a northern New England neighborhood, multi-family dwellings that would be at home in the American Southwest for their adobe-inspired outsides, and sun-porched abodes that would not look out of place dotting the Long Island Sound. I have seen homes with doors that you cannot find at first glance, lawns cut through by stone paths winding up to the door, and literal greenhouse extensions. I have observed yards situated in every possible configuration around a house, a severe rectangle of grass on the left side, a sprawling field-like lawn that stretches from threshold to street, I have tried to find side of a house, stone walls that hide most of the house to which it belongs. I have paused to appreciate the little decorations people hang to make their house a home, whether it is a seasonal flag, a special mailbox, a signpost with the family name, spring decorations stuck to the windows, a bench by a doorway, a gate to close in a driveway. I have tested myself, dating the original construction anywhere from 1915 to 1973 (though no one can tell me for sure if my estimates are correct).
I have also made it my objective to walk down and around dead end streets, too. Because I avoid them while driving unless visiting someone who lives there (though I don’t actually know anyone who lives on a dead end street right now), I decided to explore them on foot. It has become a little treasure hunt of sorts, looking for the types of houses that stand on dead ends, wondering if the inhabitants like their situation or if it is more difficult to park their cars, questioning if their part of the street ever gets plowed during a snowstorm and how long it might take to dig themselves out to get to work or school, imagining myself living somewhat cut-off from the main arteries.
I think all of this observation serves as a reminder for me to pause. Pre-pandemic, I was barreling through these streets and avoiding the narrower ones where I would have to drop my speed. And, now, I am appreciating the ability to meander and reflect without time limit.
