Items

• 
  2021-09-16

  Life is Better Where It's Wetter

  Travel had always been in my blood. I can even remember the first time I was legally allowed to board a plane on my own without having to wear a silly "Unaccompanied Minor" badge around my neck. The idea of getting on an airplane and landing in a completely new place only hours later would always thrill me. Unfortunately, when the pandemic hit, travel started to look a little different. The freedom I once felt when I stepped foot on a 737 began to feel more like an anxiety-filled hassle. Normally, I would have been found jet-setting across the U.S. to the big cities on the east and west coasts where the parties lasted all night long, but that was no longer possible. I started to remembered how I had always wanted to visit Lake Tahoe. I'd always seen the outdoorsy girls on my Instagram feed post pictures of the clear, blue water. Maybe this was my chance to take a break from the major hubs and slow down my pace. One thing remained, though. I still didn't want to face those airports. That's when I made one of the biggest decisions of my young life. I packed up my Jeep and started out on what would become 3 weeks across our American highways - just me, a Jeep Wrangler, and the open road. I never could have expected what I would discover while driving. I truly gained a new appreciation for the world around me and realized I much preferred travel by wheel than by wing. Here I thought the freedom I felt when traveling was at risk of becoming obsolete, when in reality it was the opposite. Any time there was a unique store along the road or a picturesque landscape, I simply stopped. I never could have done that in an airplane! When I finally made it to the beach at California's gorgeous Lake Tahoe, I was speechless. It was everything I could have imagined and more. The views, the smells, the sounds - breathtaking. It was in those moments, I got my freedom back in the middle of a pandemic.
• 
  2020-04-10

  Bring The Noise

  Bringing music into the home to ease the pandemic woes.
• 
  2022-07-06

  U.S. Yellowstone is latest national park to add indoor mask mandate due to rising COVID cases

  This is a news story from CBS News from Sophie Reardon. Due to rising cases, Yellowstone National Park will now require visitors two years and older to wear masks indoors. Other national parks have mask mandates too, such as the Grand Canyon, Yosemite, and the Grand Tetons. This requirement is for everyone using an indoor facility, regardless of vaccination status. For future visitors at this time to these parks, it is recommended one look up COVID requirements for the place they wish to go.
• 
  2022

  The West in the face of crises since the nineteenth century In the West, returning to the land and to locality is one of the traditional responses to crises

  Confronted with what may appear to be a series of global crises - health, environmental, economic and even democratic - the ideas on the virtues of what is local and rural are becoming increasingly heard. This article aims at putting this return to locality in historical perspective. For almost three hundred years, Western societies have gone through profound changes, especially economic ones, at the cost of a break with nature, in a more or less dramatic, and more or less painful way. Throughout our recent history, surprisingly diverse voices (political leaders, artists, activists, etc.) have conjured up this return to the land, which has taken on various forms. This return appears to be a providential solution to these disruptive changes. The health crisis due to Covid 19 seems to have not only confirmed, but also exacerbated this trend.
• 
  2022-06-24

  1.6 billion face masks entered our oceans in 2020

  This is an Instagram post from birdlife_sa. It discusses the amount of face masks that ended up in the ocean, and what you can do to make your mask disposal more environmentally friendly.
• 
  2022-05-27

  Mask trash calle Andrés Razuri

  Picture of a black disposable mask in the street near Parque 15 de Enero de la Independencia in Arequipa, Peru.
• 2020-05-01

  Background Noise

  From 2005 to 2020, I was a police officer. My life was hectic and noisy. I carried two mandatory work cell phones everywhere I went, 24 hours a day, which rang, beeped, and chirped continuously. A police radio was on in my house, in my car, or in my ear, every hour of the day. In my world, people were always talking, at work and at home. I resigned from my position in April of 2020, just as the COVID lockdowns were coming into effect. I suddenly found myself with nowhere to be due to no longer having a job and having minimal to no contact with others due to the lockdown. Being an avid flyfisher, my days became about spending most of my time on the river alone. This was also not normal, as I am also a flyfishing guide, and am used to fishing with other people, who are usually talking to me, but due to COVID, I no longer had clients. The constant of my life went from hearing people talking (and yelling) and devises making noise, to the sound of the rushing water of the river. I soon found improvements appearing in my life. I began feeling better, sleeping better, eating better, was able to focus more, and had a much more positive attitude. All of which were side effects of being on the river everyday by myself. The COVID pandemic was an opportunity for people to re-connect with nature unknowingly, as outdoor activities were their only choice of recreation outside of their homes. Due to outdoor activity being the only option for recreation, people learned, or remembered in some cases, the value which nature can add to life, as well as how simple it is to take nature for granted. The pandemic forced people back into nature, which re-awakened (or maybe awakened for the first time) the special relationship between the human senses and nature.
• 
  2020-04-10

  Warmth of the sun and the feel of the grass beneath my feet.

  The memories that stick in my head the most durning the pandemic are of the time I spent in my backyard with my partner and our dogs. I couldn't go to work and there was not much to do with my job virtually. I spent my days outside playing with my dogs; and sitting or laying on the grass next to my partner. I would sit in the backyard and feel the warmth of the sun cascading over my body; as I inhaled deeply the warm rush of the marijuana smoke into my lungs. I would walk on the ground barefoot feeling the earth beneath my feet and the grass between my toes. Listening to the birds chirp and the bees buzz by on their way to pollinate the many wild flowers and vegetables we have in our back garden. It was such a peaceful time for my partner and I. We had only bought our house a year or so earlier, and during this time we really started to feel like we settled into this space. Our backyard was our shelter from the world. To juxtapose that with what was happening outside of our sun drenched backyard is the most striking thing about these memory for me. Here we were enjoying a freedom that is seldom experienced in this hyper-capitalist world we live in (the freedom of not working). We were fortunate enough that we could spend our days in the sun with our dogs while the world passed us by. There was a brief moment during this pandemic where we hoped that others would see how capitalism ruins our lives and how much better things could be. It seemed in many ways the earth was healing, we had a brief glimpse into what a ecologically sustainable future could look like, but not only that, we had an opening to see what a life that emphasizes people over profit and leisure over work could be. Unfortunately, that was not going to last and was never meant to. The powers that be needed their profits, and their workers to exploit; and slowly but surely they demanded we risk our lives for their economy. The warmth of the sun and the feel of grass beneath my feet was lost to the grinding gears of the capitalist machine and I'm not sure I'll ever get it back.
• 
  2022-05-26

  Relocation in Isolation, Reconnection in Solitude

  When Covid first kicked off, I was in the final months of my undergraduate degree, weeks away from obtaining my B.A. in history from CSU Stanislaus in December 2020. I had made plans to travel and work in Japan, teaching English, doing cultural work, and generally immersing myself into the culture I found so fascinating in my studies. However, the world's shutdown would put an end (or a pause) to this plan. Now working remotely from home, I stayed in my room working on my senior thesis, looking out the window to the often empty street. My family had decided to move, as we had decided years before but loose ends such as my degree were the final threads to be cut. Remote work had given us an unexpected leap in our time-frame, and so in the midst of the Paradise fires, to which I vividly remember the dark orange skies blotting out the sun and the ever present ashy, smoky stench on the air, carried by the warm breeze from the north, we began the process of transitioning our lives to be on the road, and to be resettled in northern Idaho. For the next year and a half or so we settled in to our new home, however the world was still largely in lock-down, and so I spent most of my time inside or in the basement where I had set up a study space to finish my senior thesis and to earn my degree through my last online semester. It was a self reflective and solitary time, in which I would often take many breaks to venture out my backdoor, which quite literally lead into the forest. Not fifty feet from my home, we have a circle of trees where we would eventually put a fire pit and often sit around together around the warmth on cold nights, talking and sharing fun with one another. When alone however, it serves as an incredible spot to simply sit back and become immersed into our natural world, an amenity I often take advantage of to this day while working on my M.A. through ASU's online program. This audio recording is a sample of that, and in it, you can hear the spring time birds chirping away, the low rumble of the highway just over the mountain, feel the breeze through the trees and the valleys from the lake, and imagine the smell of pine and flowers on the forest floor.
• 
  2020-08-16

  Mask Breath and Swamp Mouth

  In 2020 it was over 100 degrees Fahrenheit (38 + Celsius) in August in the eastern area of San Diego, California. I was working as a delivery driver for Amazon delivering packages around greater San Diego County. Having been about six months into the pandemic, masks were required pretty much everywhere. For health and safety, we were required to wear those masks while delivering. The picture above shows me wearing one of the masks which is made of cotton and double layered. These masks have a sleeve inside to insert a filter. Elastic strips with a stopper on the end goes around the ears to hold the mask over the nose and mouth. Because this mask irritated my ears, I took a bread wrapper twist and hooked it to the back and tied it so it wouldn't sit on my ears and was instead tied around the back of my head. This jerry rigged mask led to a tighter fit on my face. This in turn led to sweat and moisture collecting in the fabric of the mask throughout the day which led to an extremely pungent stench because of the sweat, mucus from a runny nose, and stinky breath. The other issue that caused more distress was the soaked mask. Especially on this particularly hot day, I was essentially breathing through a wet rag. Breathing through my mouth was the only option because my nose wasn't strong enough to draw in enough air. Climbing up stairs and up and down drive ways made it more difficult to breath. I had to take intermittent breaks to pull down the mask to get air and breath fresh air. Needless to say, mints, gum, and breath freshener was regularly on hand after this day. Along with lots and lots of water.
• 
  2020-05-29

  Water, Water, Everywhere

  Looking back at 2020, and thinking about what event(s) really tapped into my senses, I needed to look back at all the pictures and videos I took throughout that year. After doing so, I noticed a common theme: water. Seeing, hearing, and touching water was a common theme for my whole family. My little ones learned that year, that it's fun to splash in puddles after a big rain storm. They learned that our wonderful state (Michigan) has some pretty awesome beaches. We also started making a point to visit local nature preserves. One we found had a giant river running through it. We found a spot to safely dip our toes and let the water wash over them, while sitting quietly and listening to the calming sounds of the river flow. The video I've attached to this is of the rain chain that runs down the side of my house. I love sitting outside when it's warm and just listening to the water trickle down. I will sit quietly, with my eyes closed, and just enjoy the calming sounds of the rain flowing down the chain. I couldn't immediately remember when I started sitting on my porch and doing this, and then it dawned on me that it started the spring of 2020 (first spring of the pandemic). When life was forcibly slowed down on us, I found myself really enjoying the sounds that nature provides, specifically, water. In a time of such stress and uncertainty, the sounds of flowing water were (and still are) so therapeutic.
• 
  2022-05-13

  Mask trash motorcycle in Peru

  While walking my daughter home from school I noticed this disposable mask next a motorcycle in Arequipa. It was about one block away from Av. Kennedy.
• 
  2022-05-06

  Edmonton high school students create company upcycling masks into jewelry

  This is a news story from CTV News by Adam Lachacz. A group of students from Lillian Osborne High School have formed a company to make use of disposable masks so that less of them end up in landfills. The company is called "Gaia" after the Greek goddess of the earth. The company is selling necklaces and earrings made from disposable masks online.
• 2022-05-06

  Plastic bag ban stalls in Chihuahua, a casualty of the pandemic

  This is a news story from El Paso Matters. This story is about Mexico's environmental issues that have risen due to COVID. In August 2019, Chihuahua became the latest state to ban single-use plastic bags. This changed with COVID, when household and medical waste rose to 80,000 tons per day. Fines for violating Chihuahua’s plastic bag ban range from 2,000 Mexican pesos ($97) to 250,000 pesos ($12,200). But authorities have refrained from enforcing it, noting that single-use items were necessary to meet coronavirus safety requirements. The pandemic’s negative impact on the economy and available workforce also presented obstacles, says Gilberto Wenglas Lara, director of ecology at the Ministry of Urban Development and Ecology.
• 
  2022-04-28

  There might finally be a good use for all those disposable masks

  This is a news story from Mic by AJ Dellinger. A new study published in Material Letters has found that disposable masks could be used to help strengthen concrete. The concrete has tested out as 47% stronger than concrete than did not contain traces of masks. The reason it is stronger is due to the microfibers found in masks. Microfibers used in building materials have shown to reduce the amount fo cracks and shrinkage, which can happen within the first 28 days of laying concrete. Using disposable masks in concrete can help reduce mask pollution while making the concrete itself more durable.
• 
  2022-05-01

  Mask trash soccer field in Parque de la Independencia

  This is a mask left behind on a cement soccer field in Parque de la Independencia, Urbanización 15 de enero in Arequipa, Peru.
• 2020-03-08

  How I look at life.

  It is important to talk about what happened so you know what not to do in the future.
• 
  2022-04-26

  Mask trash grifo Porongoche

  Mask trash on the street near the grifo Porongoche in Arequipa, Peru.
• 
  2022-04-12

  VAP and SMhopes #28

  Help the Earth! We want Covid to end! Stop littering! Stop fires! Stop capturing animals! Stop wasting! Stop cutting trees!
• 
  2022-04-12

  VAP and SMhopes #19

  More nature
• 
  2022-04-12

  VAP and SMhopes #18

  End world pollution
• 
  2022-04-12

  VAP and SMhopes #4

  No more people = no more pollution; it's the truth
• 
  2022-04-25

  Mask trash Arequipa

  Mask trash by parque 15 de enero in Arequipa, Peru.
• 
  2022-04-12

  Abandoned Mask Found At Gas Station

  Mask I found while pumping gas. It's crazy how many masks are just dropped on the ground after using them
• 
  2022-04-07

  Mask Pollution

  This is an Instagram post by discarded_face_masks_uk. This is an account that shows people that have left their face masks on the ground, thus making it worse for the environment. Hashtags like #coveryourface do imply that they still want you to wear a mask, but are against people accidentally leaving them on the ground. This helps speak of a larger issue where with mask mandates in places in some areas, it leaves more opportunity for people to litter with their face masks, as people will take them off at times when doing certain tasks or if they think they don't need one in some specific area.
• 
  2022-04-05

  Big Changes to a Small Island

  At the "heart" of Polynesia, (referring to its geographic location in the Polynesian triangle) American Samoa appears as another tiny dot on the map. Nevertheless, it means the WORLD to its 55,000+ people, and to some, it is all they have ever known as their home. It is also the southernmost territory of the United States (below the Equator) and the second to the last place on earth to always welcome the New Year LAST. Perhaps it coincidently depicts the slow-paced nature of the island to which many visitors claim that "it feels like time slows down", here at a piece of heaven on earth that is deeply rooted in the Christian faith and the "Fa'aSamoa", a.k.a the Samoan culture or literally, the "Samoan way of life". The people of our island are like a big tight-knitted family--we are all related anyway--when something good or bad happens on the west side of the island, news travels to the east faster or about the same as the speed of light! It has its disadvantages, but for the most part, it is a beautiful thing to see the collective reaction of our people when it is of happiness, support, and sympathy. When the coronavirus started spreading rapidly in the United States in early 2020, our territory continued its commercial flights until mid-March when Hawaii's cases started to rise. Since March 2020, our borders were closed to commercial travel for the next 11 months, not including cargo flights and ships. Residents were stuck in the States for nearly a year. The first of many repatriation flights finally began in February 2021. The repatriation flights took place once a month, during which passengers would undergo a strict process of testing and reporting, a quarantined stay in Hawaii for 12 days, and another 2-weeks quarantine upon arrival in American Samoa. Throughout all repatriation and medical flights, the quarantine process was still a requirement, which was how positive cases were caught and taken care of to prevent community spread. Fast forward to February 2022, exactly a year later, news of a COVID outbreak quickly spread when it was leaked on social media that the family of a Department of Health worker tested positive for COVID at the main hospital. The general public was seeking answers and taking their concerns on social media until later on that same evening the said family tested positive, the local news channel held a Livestream in which the Governor, Lieutenant Governor, and the COVID-19 Task Force officially announced the community outbreak of the virus. People rushed to the stores to buy necessities and food before the lockdown was set to begin at midnight. The lockdown was marked as Code Red, with curfews from 9pm to 4:30 am, and business hours to be from 8am to 4pm, while all government workers and non-essential employees are to stay home, except essential workers and first-responders. Students transitioned to virtual learning and now interact in class with options such as "raise hand" and/or "mute/unmute". Our people had to adjust very quickly to the new reality we now face. A small island once free with family gatherings, church services, and close human interaction as we are known for...now all of that sounds like a distant memory that will take some time to experience again. Beaches and parks used to be crowded with people and all the happiness they offer their surroundings, now empty and eerily quiet with a "CLOSED" sign nearby. We are masking up everywhere--with little to no physical interaction--so far with 4,700+ cumulative positive cases and a total loss of 7 souls, which has hit our dearest island with extreme sorrow. While the world has moved forward and learned to live with COVID, even opening back up and unmasking, our island is once again a little behind with the experience. It is only the beginning for us! Fortunately, our unwavering faith in God continues to be our ultimate Hope, along with the support of our loving families, beloved people, the United States, and our fellow Pacific islands. One thing we are sure of is that WE ARE RESILIENT PEOPLE, having overcome many challenges for centuries! This too shall pass...on the bright side, in order for it to pass, our journey with COVID had to begin. Now we must go through it, endure it, and overcome together AS one like we always do! God be with us...God IS with us.
• 
  2021-01-30

  A View from My Window

  During a difficult time in which we are separated from one another, it is important to make the most out of every small moment. We don't notice all the tiny things that pass us by each day. This is my view.
• 
  2021-08-30

  2021 Traveling

  I uploaded a photograph of a stadium taken Athens, Greece while performers & staff were setting up the equipment during our visit.
• 
  2022-02-08

  Pink disposable mask trash

  A pink disposable mask on ASU’s campus near Coor.
• 
  2022-02-06

  Nozomi park mask trash

  Mask trash by the parking lot at Nozomi Park.
• 
  2020-03-28

  What to do when stuck at home

  Once the world shut down and everyone had to quarantine, I found that I had a lot of new found free time to deal with. Over the first few days I thought it was awesome, because I was able to relax at home and basically do nothing. After those beginning days, things started to get boring. I didn’t know what to do with myself. It took me a few days, but I began to look for more things I could do with my life. As a music major, I practice my instrument about 3-4 hours every day. I took advantage of my free time by putting in a lot of work on the horn which greatly helped my development. I have also been very interested in learning new languages. I decided to start learning German. So far I’ve been studying German everyday on my own since then. It has been very fun to read stories and news articles in German. I have also found a great podcast and YouTube channel that does an awesome job teaching German. I had also begun to exercise more during the pandemic. My friends and I would go on runs outside together. It was a great way to meet up with friends and be healthy. The pandemic was a very difficult time when it first broke out. Most people did not know what to do with themselves. There was a lot of sitting at home, watching television, or playing video games. I didn’t want to remember the time of the pandemic as a time where I didn’t improve as a person. I had decided to make these changes or improvements to better myself for when the pandemic was over. It has been a great lesson for me as the pandemic is still going on today. I have learned how to deal with difficult situations and also how to make the most out of them
• 
  2020-03-06

  Liberated Seas

  I was working as a deck hand on a ship in the South Pacific at the threshold of the global pandemic lockdown. There are myriad sensations a sailor knows on any given day: the varying strength, temperature, and sound of the wind or the feel of the sun or its absence. Yet what struck me that day was an absence of the usual boat traffic and the distinctive sounds of powerful breaths punctuating the rush of sea on the hull. In the relative unusual scarcity of ships to threaten them with injuring or fatal collisions, migrating whales had gathered on the surface in unusual numbers. The usual dull roar of the maritime roar had been replaced by throaty deep breaths. The puffing sound of them exhaling in choir as they rose from the azure depths surrounded us, as the captain ordered for the ship to slow and halt. A pod rested on the waves, surrounding us. One can project human attributes on animals, but the whales are sentient beings and their breaths did sound like sighs of relief in the absence of any ships besides ours. The captain cursed at the delay but artificial sense of time of course was a human construct that seemed so dwarfed then by those giant breaths, a reminder of the primal rhythms of the sea and that we were ultimately an invasive species humbled by a virus and the natural power of the ocean.
• 
  2020-03-07

  Liberated Seas

  I was working as a deck hand on a ship in the South Pacific at the threshold of the global pandemic lockdown. There are myriad sensations a sailor knows on any given day: the varying strength, temperature, and sound of the wind or the feel of the sun or its absence. Yet what struck me that day was an absence of the usual boat traffic and the distinctive sounds of powerful breaths punctuating the rush of sea on the hull. In the relative unusual scarcity of ships to threaten them with injuring or fatal collisions, migrating whales had gathered on the surface in unusual numbers. The usual dull roar of the maritime roar had been replaced by throaty deep breaths. The puffing sound of them exhaling in choir as they rose from the azure depths surrounded us, as the captain ordered for the ship to slow and halt. A pod rested on the waves, surrounding us. One can project human attributes on animals, but the whales are sentient beings and their breaths did sound like sighs of relief in the absence of any ships besides ours. The captain cursed at the delay but artificial sense of time of course was a human construct that seemed so dwarfed then by those giant breaths, a reminder of the primal rhythms of the sea and that we were ultimately an invasive species humbled by a virus and the natural power of the ocean.
• 
  2020-05

  Silence in the Morning

  At the beginning of the pandemic, I was working at a hotel on a US Military base in Stuttgart Germany where I typically worked the overnight shift. As such, my commute home in the mornings was usually the noisiest part of my day. I would often pass by the local bakery on my way home, one of the busiest places in town in the morning. I would hear the sounds of the shuffling of feet of the people in line, the clink of coins on the counter, the crinkle of paper bags filled with the daily bread the Germans would buy or the pastries they would eat for lunch, and the whine of the coffee machine for their morning coffee. In the background was the constant droning of the morning rush hour traffic. After the lockdown, when the German government shut down businesses, I had to continue working as the military converted the hotel I worked at into a quarantine facility. I continued with my overnight shifts and my commute home in the mornings while everyone else stayed home. What struck me the most about my new commute home was the silence. The utter lack of noise was practically oppressive. I could close my eyes and the only difference with the dead of night was the warmth of the sun beating on my skin. What was once the noisiest part of my day was now the quietest.
• 
  2020-04-02

  Pensacola Beach Quarantined

  I live in Pensacola, about 10 mins from the beach. I have spent many a day at the beach with my family. The sounds and smells of the beach that are familiar to me are children playing, seagulls flying above, someone playing the radio, waves crashing, people talking and laughing, and the smell of nearby restaurants and suntan oil. It was the first week of April 2020, and I had terrible cabin fever from being quarantined, so I decided to take a drive up the coast. After about an hour of driving, I turned around to head home. That is when I really looked at the beach; I had never seen it so empty, void of all humans. I pulled over and got out, and the sounds were different. There were no laughing children, no songs on the radio, just the thunderous crashing of the waves. There was no suntan oil smell in the air, just the smell and taste of saltwater. It was surreal to experience the beach so barren but more serene than it had ever felt.
• 
  2021-12-16

  Connecting With Nature

  Throughout the pandemic, I've found myself connecting more with nature through hiking as a way to relax while still exercising. This photograph is a picture of a waterfall I saw that was particularly beautiful.
• 
  2021-09-05

  EPITAPH an excerpt from an epistle by Sebastian Delgado, dps

  [CURATOR'S NOTE] This is an piece of fiction submitted to the archive by the author.
• 
  2021-12-10

  Natalie and Tuck Oral History, 2021/12/10

  We interviewed each other with questions surrounding the various pandemics we learned about in our class.
• 
  2020-03-07

  HIST30060 Environmental impact of the pandemic

  This photo shows a large amount of waste in the form of face masks that were found washed up on a beach in Hong Kong. While the pandemic has been argued to have brought some environmental benefits, namely from the reduced pollution that comes with fewer cars on the road, this photo shows that our efforts to protect ourselves are harming our oceans. Discarding of our disposable face masks responsibly is something we should all keep in mind in the course of the pandemic.
• 
  2021-10-07

  Positives of the pandemic

  This is a photo of a community garden at a park very close to me. Although this project existed before the pandemic, it has flourished much in this time to become a beautiful large garden with many different plants. I think this reflects some of the positive effects of the pandemic, as for some people, it gave them the chance to focus on things they might not normally have. Community engagement and connection in this way has provided hope for many people during this time.
• 2020-05-03

  Quiet Lockdown

  In the part of Maryland I live in, there is a lot of noise pollution caused by cars and planes. On one side there is a large international airport, a busy road on the other and a large highway on the third side. Almost every day, the sound of cars, planes and the occasional helicopter can be heard. However when the COVID19 pandemic began to pick up pace, lockdowns were set up in an attempt to slow its advance. While the affect of this was seen in large empty parking lots at the airport, it could also be heard. The roads were quiet, as less people went out to shop, see family or go out to eat. In addition with very few people traveling, the daily noise of airplanes declined significantly. Everything became far quieter and a reminder of the lockdown, a constant reminder that we were going through a major event in world history. However while the quiet brought about by the lockdowns was a reminder of the pandemic, the return of noise was just as much a reminder. When planes and particularly cars started to create more noise pollution, it showed that even with a global pandemic and lockdowns, it wasn't going to stop people from going out.
• 2020-04-02

  The Silence of Nature

  I live in a rural area of southeastern Louisiana. When I first moved here the only thing that you could hear at night was the natural sounds that one would think of when being in the country, but as developments started to move into my area the air was polluted with the sound of cars on the distant interstate. The nights become a harmony of grasshoppers and traffic all mixed into a melody that formed a hybrid of urban and rural life. On the night of April 2nd, 2020 I was enjoying a night of looking at the stars through my telescope. It was a mainly clear night when I closed my eyes and began listening realized that I could no longer hear the cars on the interstate. Louisiana was in the mist of the a very high spike in COVID and lockdowns were in effect meaning there were fewer cars on the roads especially at night. I sat and listened for hours as I was able to hear all the sounds that were once masked by the intrusion of development on my rural area. From about April 2nd until early July this quite remanded at night. It was not until Louisiana started to open up more that the sound of the cars returned to my nighttime symphony. When I look back on the early days of the pandemic this is the memory that stands out and how it will be remembered by me. Though a harsh time in the world and for humanity, the sounds of technology and modernization were drowned out by nature for a time and it made the nights a little more peaceful and less stressful with all that was going on in the world.
• 2021-10-15

  The Love of Candles

  Before 2020, I hardly ever burned a candle. My parents had forbid it, convinced me or my siblings were going to forget about it and burn the house down. My dorm room had extremely strict (and understandable) rules about open flames and heat sources. It wasn’t until I had graduated college and moved back into and then out of my parents’ house that I was free of these regulations. Even then, though, it never occurred to me to buy candles. My favorite scents were often nature-based and could easily be experienced by visiting the ocean, or the forest, or the occasional bakery. It wasn’t until the pandemic, when I was living in Ohio without being comfortable traveling to the ocean, or to the forest, or in public at all, that I turned to candles. Soon one impulse purchase of a sea salt and balsam scented candle turned into a constant hunt for all of my favorite scents, to bring me to places I didn’t feel safe or responsible traveling to. My collection grew rapidly, and for the past year or so I’ve had a candle lit in my home almost every day. I never thought something a simple as a $7 candle I found at TJ Maxx or Bath & Body Works could bring me so much peace, calming my need to return to my favorite far-off places until it is once again safe to do so. Don’t get me wrong, candles still can’t compare to the real smells I adore, but even a weak imitation is better than a scent-less longing. Even though I’m currently residing in Ohio, I can use candles to feel connected to my home state of California, or my favorite places to visit, bringing comfort and familiarity in a time that is anything but comfort and familiar. My bank account may not be happy with me given this new habit, but it’s a price I am willing to pay.
• 2020-06-01

  Beautiful Silence in Paradise

  Hawaii is a very unique place in terms of its beauty and overall welcoming atmosphere. I grew up knowing how popular of a destination spot my state is and how in many ways we are extremely dependent on outside sources to fuel our small island economies and businesses. I had thought that aspects I had become used to seeing, such as the extremely busy downtown shopping and tourism part of Hilo, would never change. The many common things you'd have smelled seen and heard were the many cars out on the road, the overfilled wastebaskets by every park and beach, the tents of entire families at many of the beaches, and the constant rush of modern living in Hawaii. Then in March through April of 2020, the university in which I was attending at the time made the big decision to cancel in person meetings for the foreseeable future. The days of constant business and crowded areas in a matter of weeks ceased to be. In late April continuing until recently, the most common things you would see empty streets, closed signs, empty parking lots, and most importantly of all, you would actually get to smell the salt of the water from the ocean, the chirping of birds by the dozens in commercial areas, and even the return of sea turtles to what were known to be crowded beaches. It’s as if the lack of tourism and industry during Covid-19 gave us local residents a new perspective of our home. One where it felt like we could finally breathe and stretch out our legs for a bit while we dealt with the pandemic effects.
• 2020-03-21

  Gardening During the Apocalypse

  I can't think of the beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic, the shut downs and lock-ins, the stay-at-home orders without thinking of my brief foray into gardening. My husband and I bought our house in northwest Baltimore in April 2019. Our little duplex sits near the end of an unbelievably picturesque street in a fairly affluent neighborhood known for its garden communities and HOA-hosted wine and cheese parties you have to pay to attend. The neighborhood is surrounded by much poorer neighborhoods and heavily-trafficked streets, the direct product of red-lining in Old Baltimore. While the Original Northwood neighborhood is much more diverse - demographically and economically - than it was when it was first established in the 1930s and 1940s, my husband and I, as some of the only residents under 40, still felt like we didn't necessarily fit in with our older, more well-to-do neighbors, despite absolutely adoring our little home, which had been lovingly renovated and reimagined by its previous tenants. Come March 2020, however, the noise from the crowded streets, the surrounding neighborhoods, and from our own neighborhood, died down substantially. Our streets and its surrounds have always been a great place to go for a walk, but now every day people were strolling by in ones and twos, sometimes in small family units. Everyone needed to get out of the houses they were now cooped up in, and I was no exception. Much to my mother's chagrin - and likely to my neighbors' embarrassment - I did not inherent my mother's green thumb. Because I am a millennial I found an app that identifies plants and set about rooting out weeds, pruning the flowers the previous tenants had not intended for me to neglect, picking up the endless stream of leaves from our several 100+ year old trees, digging up more weeds and debating with my husband about whether we should start an herb and vegetable garden or put in a patio in the little garden area that connects our front and back yards. I did not become proficient at gardening. I am much better than I was, however, at identifying the truly astonishing diversity of plants in my own garden and in my neighborhood by scent and even touch. I learned that the dried and withered allium stalks pull effortlessly out of the ground after they die, that African violets also give way to a gentle scooping from the earth, and that thistle, of course, will still try to prick you as it attempts to cling to the soil. I learned that those thin but tough shoots of elm and oak born from the seeds and acorns the squirrels missed not only grow rapidly, but are extraordinarily difficult to rip from the earth. And no matter how much seemingly-delicate clover one claws at, its roots will always remain beneath the surface, as virulent in a day or two as when one earlier tore at it in complete dismay of its sheer stubbornness. I did not become proficient at gardening. But I did relish the feeling of cool, damp earth underneath my hands, even in my fingernails, the crunch of dry leaves, the slick sliding of wet leaves, the red, angry weals left on my hands from those stubborn oaks. I felt accomplished as I pulled lovely, but ultimately threatening African violets and wild raspberry from underneath the spreading cover of the hostas, and as I pulled wild mint, lemon, and rosemary for tea and cooking. I told myself I'd use the ramps (a species of wild onion that smells and tastes sort of of like a combination between garlic and scallions) in a soup, as a college roommate of mine had done, but I forgot to harvest them in time. From what I recall, summertime is best, particularly late summertime. The other thing I remember about this time spent in my garden, hands in the dirt, sweat on my brow, bug bites inflaming every available inch of skin, is the new sense of connection I felt with my neighbors who stopped to wave hello, nod and smile at my gardening efforts. Neighbors who I hadn't gotten to know before the pandemic which now prevented us, due to fear of contamination from contact with other people, from truly getting to know each other still. But somehow, the simple act of being out in my garden, doing this simple, repetitive toil, made me feel like I was participating in a ritual, an activity that linked me to the less unsavory past of the community, and to neighbors who otherwise might have remained alien in a plague environment that seemed to bring a new apocalypse with every week.
• 2021-10-03

  The Scents of a Homecoming

  My maternal grandfather passed away late last year amidst a relatively heavy pandemic lockdown, and our family has since tried to fill in for him in caretaking for my grandmother. If he could have asked something of us, I know it would have only been to look after her. He was that kind of man. He didn’t need for anything for time with his family and friends, and his utmost concern was her welfare, even when she angered him. Recurring and cyclic apprehension and uncertainty over transmission rates, long-term vaccine efficacy and inoculated antibody generation have forestalled several attempted return trips to my hometown. Data-driven doubts have eroded my wife’s confidence that our collective vaccinations will protect her aging parents from life-altering illness and death have prevented her from traveling with me, even though she wont readily admit that outside our home. In addition to everything else the pandemic has altered or taken from us, it’s also complicated my family’s efforts to care for each other. My grandmother turned 86 recently, and her birthday was also their anniversary. They would have been married 63 years this month, and we wanted to make sure the day didn’t pass like any other lonely Tuesday since his death. My cousins and I put together a birthday dinner at the best restaurant in town, and I traveled back to New Mexico for a week to visit and help where I could. The trip turned out to inspire a self-reflection on the power of scent in my life, emotions, and memory. *** I drove straight to my grandmother’s home on Blodgett Street. I pushed the front door open, and an unpleasant stink hit my nostrils. Throughout my life, that home had particular smells that transitioned over time. Everyone in my family but the children smoked cigarettes while I was growing up, and it wasn’t unusual for a blue-gray haze to hang in my grandparents’ home during family holidays. It wasn’t uncommon for their 1000 sq. ft. home to sleep ten or fifteen people when we had something to celebrate or grieve. Ashtrays often overflowed if late night poker games grew too intense to step away from the dining table. I recall one Thanksgiving from my early childhood in which heavy cigarette smoke obscured my view of the backdoor while I stood near the front door. Even through those early years, I associated their home with the smell of sweets. Baked goods, chocolate cakes, snickerdoodles, and sugar cereals, although I’m now surprised any of us could smell anything. I never ate Fruity Pebbles anywhere but their house. Word reached my family in the mid 80s that hotboxing the house was bad for everyone’s health, and they began smoking outside. Grandad hated that; he’s the one who paid off the mortgage, so he oughta be able to smoke wherever he damned well pleased. Still, he took it outside for the grandkids. Since they stopped smoking in the house, and especially since they quit smoking fifteen years ago, I associated their home with a particular and pleasant fragrance. I never placed it, and I’ve never smelled it anywhere else. It wasn’t solely the scented wax my grandmother leaves on warming plates for too long, which are almost always homey food scents, like apple pie. The scent of their home welcomed me back to a place I am unconditionally loved, missed, and wanted. My jokes always hit, my cooking never failed, and everyone was always glad to see me. They were also glad to take my lunch money at the poker table, which I imagine might have contributed to my perpetual welcome. As of this trip, that unique aroma is gone, replaced by a light odor of stale animal waste. My grandmother took in a low functioning chihuahua about three years ago, and the dog is slowly and thoroughly ruining all the flooring surfaces in her home. It won’t housebreak, and it’s incapable of turning right. Seriously. The dog might be a reincarnated Nascar driver. It only turns left. When it’s excited, anxious, fearful, doesn’t matter. The only emotional arrow in its quiver is a left turn, and the only dichotomy is the circumference. The dog can run around the whole room or spin in place, but only and always left. Lefty shit on one of my most important and reassuring emotional stimulants. ** I also stayed with my parents, who live across town, and we share a love of food, especially comfort food best consumed with big spoons or served in casserole dishes. Because we’re New Mexicans, that means a heavy dose of Hatch green chili goes in everything produced in our kitchens. Throughout the week, my folks made all the staples for fall: red beef enchiladas, fire roasted salsa, smoked burgers, and green chili chicken stew. While I associated backed goods and sweets with my grandparents’ home, I’ve always associated the aroma of meals with my parents, and especially the foods that take a day or two to get just right in a crock or stockpot. Bubbling green chili anything reminds me of the best parts of my childhood, and I have no unfond memories or emotions associated with it. I never caught a beating over the dinner table, never fought over a kettle of green chili. Comfort foods have historically made all the hurt and misery of the outside world go away. That’s their magic, isn’t it? No matter what the day and the world brought to your doorstep, the right foods and aromas improved everything they touched. ** As such, the consistent and predictable wonderfulness of my parents’ home helped buttress my emotions and the loss of the Blodgett Street Scent. The disappearance of that emotional, olfactory experience altered my perception of the trip. I regarded its replacement as a bellwether of things to come, a foreshadowing of my grandmother’s seemingly imminent decline into managed in-home care. My concerns over what the light stink meant conspired with her increased hearing loss, the occasional repeated story, and the often-repeated questions to erode my confidence in her long-term stability. Although she’s now 86, she remains independent and self-sufficient. There’s nothing she can’t accomplish on her own with enough time and naps between exertion. I think I’ve taken that for granted, though, and I should begin managing my expectations. Thanks to a left-leaning chihuahua, I have to confront my grandmother’s increasing fragility and forthcoming dependence. I regret having never attempted to define its source ingredients, although I doubt I could recreate it at any other time or place. In the meantime, I need to get her out of the house long enough to have the flooring scrubbed and sanitized. If you’re in the market for a left-loving fecal factory, please inquire within.
• 2020-02-02

  Sounds and Scents of a Maine Island

  In February 2020, I moved to Vinalhaven, an island off the coast of Maine, for a job that promised to advance my career and provide time for personal introspection and growth. The island community was vibrant, and as a newcomer, I was invited to dinner parties, game nights, and book club meetings – I hardly had time to miss the family and friends I left behind in Colorado. Three weeks later, the COVID-19 pandemic required me to exchange my introduction to the community for long solitary hours. Handshakes and warm hugs from new acquaintances were replaced by cold winter days and a lack of human contact. The seclusion drove me to explore the island’s shoreline and conservation trails and intermingle with nature that was unimpeded by humans who had retreated behind the walls of their homes. Without the distraction of a companion, I noticed the wind rushing through trees, saltwater crashing against the rocks at the ocean’s edge, bald eagles screeching, chickadees singing, and small animals scurrying through tall natural grasses near the basin. I sat so still one morning that a curious, gray mink approached me and stared for a few seconds. One November evening, while I walked along the rocky shoreline at State Beach, an estrous scent from a whitetail doe in heat wafted from the nearby woods. While the pungent odor attracted bucks, the smell assaulted my nose and distracted me from the fresh scents of saltwater, pine, and balsam. The overpowering smell suggested that the doe was close; her presence comforted me in my isolation. I expected to integrate into my new island home through people. Instead, I became grounded in the environment, surrounded by the sounds and scents that I may have otherwise missed.
• 
  2020-02

  Sights and Sounds of a Maine Island

  In February 2020, I moved to Vinalhaven, an island off the coast of Maine, for a job that promised to advance my career and provide time for personal introspection and growth. The island community was vibrant, and as a newcomer, I was invited to dinner parties, game nights, and book club meetings – I hardly had time to miss the family and friends I left behind in Colorado. Three weeks later, the COVID-19 pandemic required me to exchange my introduction to the community for long solitary hours. Handshakes and warm hugs from new acquaintances were replaced by cold winter days and a lack of human contact. The seclusion drove me to explore the island’s shoreline and conservation trails and intermingle with nature that was unimpeded by humans who had retreated behind the walls of their homes. Without the distraction of a companion, I noticed the wind rushing through trees, saltwater crashing against the rocks at the ocean’s edge, bald eagles screeching, chickadees singing, and small animals scurrying through tall natural grasses near the basin. I sat so still one morning that a curious, gray mink approached me and stared for a few seconds. One November evening, while I walked along the rocky shoreline at State Beach, an estrous scent from a whitetail doe in heat wafted from the nearby woods. While the pungent odor attracted bucks, the smell assaulted my nose and distracted me from the fresh scents of saltwater, pine, and balsam. The overpowering smell suggested that the doe was close; her presence comforted me in my isolation. I expected to integrate into my new island home through people. Instead, I became grounded in the environment, surrounded by the sounds and scents that I may have otherwise missed.
• 
  2020-10-20

  A Public Performance in the Middle of the Pandemic

  For the last few years, I have coordinated an event called, Dancing for a Brand New Me. It is a fundraiser event that is designed to not only bring about awareness to domestic violence in Lassen County, but it is a fundraiser to help pay for the the mortgage of the shelter for victims. Last year was the 7th year that local "Susanville Stars" were partnered with local professional choreographers to dance three dances before judges similar to NBC's Dancing with the Stars. Our local stars are usually very active community members who spend about 5-6 months learning the dances, but they also fundraiser to get sponsors. It becomes a fun, healthy competition to see who can out dance and out raise funds with each other. Most of the choreographers have participated in the event for many years. It has become a community favorite, selling out tickets both nights the third weekend in October. In 2020, we had to come up with four different plans on how we would perform, because of the pandemic. Our plans included only performing a livestreamed show to relocating our event outdoors. Normally, the event is performed in the local Veterans Hall that is equipped with stage, lights, and sound. In September 2020, I wrote a proposal to public health outlining in detail how we would manage the event. It took weeks for public health to get back to us. But what they approved was that our event could be held at the local High School football stadium, we had to mark off 6-foot distance, require mask, and have screenings at the gate. We had hand sanitizer stations and we were instructed two things: limited seats (200 people) and whatever we did, when we live streamed to not show the audience. The article that I attached talks more about the event than the obstacle it took to put on the event. It is incredibly difficult to move sound equipment in and out of a football stadium every day for a week. It is hard to do a staged performance when you are surrounded by a dirt track. It is hard to have your dressing room be the football locker room. It was very difficult to make all of the modifications and changes that we did. But we did it. And it was an amazing event. Even though we weren't supposed to, we have about 400 people in the audience each night. Most did not wear mask and most were sitting very close to each other. Even one of the public health officials sat in the audience not following the "rules". The event raised over $25,000! Just two weeks after our event, many of the Halloweeen events led to a Covid-19 outbreak in our community and the cases rose rapidly. Prior to Dancing for a Brand New Me 2020, we had zero cases. After Halloween 2020 our cases skyrocketed for a small town. I saw that we happened to just squeeze in one performing arts event just in time before things got bad. I feel like we were lucky and it was probably why the event was so well attended. I have the newspaper article and my proposal attached.
• 
  2021-08-13

  Covid Safe Activities

  My dog, Via, was born the year before the Pandemic began. Almost two-thirds of her life has been spent with both her people home all the time and she enjoys it. One of our favorite Covid safe activities is driving out to the beach early on a Friday or rainy weekend when we know nobody will be out on the beach. Via can run for hours and the beach is her favorite place to do it. She loves to dig and find crabs or look for birds on the horizon. I don't feel comfortable taking her out in public because of Covid and I don't want strangers coming up and asking to pet her so she mainly lives a solitary life now with her family. I don't know if that is good for her or not, but I constantly worry that Covid is messing up her life and her socialization.