First things first: The biggest thing that happened to me in March was a hug. Think about that. We have reached a time when a hug becomes the most precious thing. On Sunday, March 21 at 2:30 p.m., because of the miracle of vaccination, I received and gave my first hug from someone other than my bubble and life mate in over a year. In fact, two lovely shining warm hugs – one from my son, another from my grandson. Warm, rib crushing, lengthy, luscious hugs which set my heart aglow in such a way that weeks later I can still feel them. They lit me up inside. I had not truly realized how much I missed them. They also unlocked some feelings in me that I had not realized were locked away.

Grief. If I was that starved for a hug – ME, with a loving healthy husband who cooks dinner occasionally, reaches out to hold my hand or wrap his arm around me in the dark. ME, with two golden retrievers, queens of affection who push their soft furry heads into my hands to be petted, roll over for tummy rubs and gaze at me with eyes which are brown pools of love. ME, with a home that is warm in winter/early spring – wood stove glowing, piles of yarn ready for knitting, paints on the table upstairs, stacks of books to read and treasure, woods for walking and a garden alive with birds, chickens and flowers in the summer….how starved must people be who are waiting this pandemic out in lonely nursing homes or hospital rooms, quiet houses, apartments, corners of alleyways. How starved are they? I grieve for them. I grieve for those who lost a loved one this past year, unable to say goodbye or mourn with the support of friends and family.

All of a sudden zoom meetings, FaceTime, texts and emails are not enough. I long to build a big bonfire and burn all my ways of coping up.

And yet – yet – as we approach the end of this pandemic I realize I am at times terrified. I sometimes feel like I am a vehicle rolling downhill with no brakes approaching the edge of a cliff. How can we get back to normal and what will that even look like?

It is like all the people who believe in science and have a healthy fear of contracting COVID, or worse yet, giving it to someone else – we have built these carefully constructed safe places but they are really houses of straw. Or perhaps they are more like caves we have tunneled into the ground or hillsides. How do we crawl out of our safe places and resume life again? It is hard to imagine resuming book clubs, even playing music with friends again. My dulcimer stands dust covered in the corner as if I had died. How to enter a church, take communion, attend a funeral when a card sent from a safe distance will no longer suffice? How can I have people in my home again? How do I dare? I am sure by now you are laughing. I am surely overthinking this.

I loved the vacant blue skies with no streaks of air traffic pollution. I loved the variety of birds at my feeders and seeing species I had not seen before. I loved the quiet. I loved not hovering around WalMart like a fly on rotten fruit. I loved baking our own bread (mostly my husband did that), hanging wash on the line, never going anywhere and having time to think.

And yet I yearn for hugs and to see lips smile and an occasional road trip or dinner out. How to balance? How to grieve? These are what we ALL must learn. We cannot shove this pandemic under the rug like a bad dream. We need to spend time in gratitude for the simple things we have learned to love, incorporate lessons learned into our lives, experience a rebirth of kindness and compassion. We need to be patient and kind to ourselves as well. I would love to hear your thoughts on this topic. Suggestions too, on how to proceed mindfully out of the tunnel into the light.

Ok. Now that I have gotten that off my chest, I do have newsy updates on a much lighter note. FIRST of all, my feathered ladies have resumed laying! Even Buffy O, who turned eight years old! She teaches me resilience every day. She is determined to keep up with the others in every way. What a joy to find four eggs (one from each of my hens) in the nest box every couple of days.

And I got four more little baby Buffs. They will be two weeks old this weekend. So far they are very healthy. I haven’t named them yet except for the smallest one, which I have called Tinkerbell. They are supposed to be pullets and I sure hope they are. I haven’t had much luck with that, having had a roo in each bunch I have raised for the last couple of times. But for now, they are adorable little balls of fluff.

It has been a beautiful Spring here so far. The temps have been consistently cool and my fruit trees are budded but not blooming. The daffodils and forsythia have been prolific with bloom. What a delight to have flowers again!

In the garden I have planted sugar snap peas and snow peas. We are planning a couple of new raised beds, and recently Pat built a cold frame which will come in handy. I have pansies, tomatoes and peppers up and under lights in the basement. I plan to plant flowering sweet peas after the predicted cold snap of this weekend.

So that’s all the news from Windy Hill at this time! Please write your comments below. I would love to hear from you!