Items

• 
  12/06/2021

  Peter Waselk Oral History, 2021/12/06

  Peter Waselk is a sales and account manager of Komatsu, a company that manages iron ore mines and sales of mining equipment based out of Virginia, MN that services Northern Minnesota, Northern Wisconsin, Southern Wisconsin, and Northern Michigan. Virginia, MN is located about 30 minutes west of the Wisconsin/Minnesota border. Still, Peter often works with iron ore industries in Northern Wisconsin (Superior, WI) as well as Milwaukee, WI, and Detroit, MI. In this interview, Peter discusses how the pandemic has impacted the iron mining industry, as well as how the pandemic has slowed infrastructure progress, including the automobile industry, appliances and cellphone production, and international shipping costs that have driven up the cost of so many products in the Midwest and the United States as a whole. Peter also discusses how the mining industry will most likely change over the next five years due to labor shortages and technological shifts to mining and industry as a whole.
• 
  12/08/2021

  Ashley Kiley Oral History, 2021/12/08

  Ashley Kiley lives in Oakland, WI, and currently works at Black Hawk Park, La Crosse, Wisconsin. In this interview, Ashley discusses how COVID-19 has affected her life, including her work, family life, and mental health. She shares what it has been like to work as a park ranger and hurricane relief worker during the pandemic, and how the pandemic has affected people she knows. She discusses the implementation of COVID-19 procedures in spring and fall of 2020, and touches on the political arguments over masks, and how the hierarchy of the Department of Defense tried to stem the spread of the virus.
• 
  2021-09-06

  Terrariums out of Boredom

  Covid took us away from everything and reality was hard to cope with. I decided to retreat into nature. The struggle was that I hated being in my house and I couldn't stay outside forever. I decided that I would bring nature indoors and started to make terrariums. I was able to exercise, practice a hobby, create art. and safely quarantine all at once.
• 
  2022-06-01

  Old Faithful Yellowstone National Park

  The first trip my family and I took once COVID restrictions were lifted was to Yellowstone National Park in Wyoming. My family enjoys being outdoors and in nature and had been discussing a trip to Yellowstone for years. We rented a cabin a half hour north of the park and drove in everyday for four days. Each day, we took a different road so we could see as much of the park as possible. The most memorable part is that on the northern road, up in the mountains, there was still quite a bit of snow on the ground. About a week after we left, all that snow melted, flooded the Yellowstone River, and destroyed the road that we went in on everyday. I also enjoyed seeing the wildlife in a natural habitat, even if there were buffalo in the road a few times a day. The busiest day was the day we went to Old Faithful. Old Faithful is probably the most popular tourist attraction in the park aside from the wildlife. Everything in the area was busy; the gift shop, hotel, restaurants, boardwalks, parking lot, everything. This was the most people I saw in one place the entire trip. When we took this trip (June 2022), as far as I remember, there were no COVID restrictions in place. I would not have minded, and maybe even preferred, if there were as some places were quite compact. They did encourage social distancing in the indoor areas but nothing was enforced. It was, however, nice to experience the park in what could be perceived as normal.
• 
  2023-01-29

  Travelling Post-Pandemic: Reflections

  Deciding whether or not to travel post-pandemic has been weighing on me emotionally. Here, I identify reasons I should vs should not travel, as well as where I would go and why.
• 
  2021-03-30

  Mojo Leaves

  I took this photo of Watson Lake near the Dells five days after restrictions were lifted. From what I remember, there were no travel restrictions at the time. I was one of the few that lived on a large property, and I could stay busy feeding my animals, chopping firewood, and working on homework. However, concerning the photo, I was coming home from getting guitar strings in Prescott. It was the first time I had thought about playing music since my good friend Joseph Morganfield passed away in December 2020. He's the son of Muddy Waters and was one of my biggest supporters as an artist and musician. I always tell folks if I could have chosen a dad, it would have been Joseph. This day was important because I realized life would go on, after Covid, like it or not.
• 
  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.
• 
  2022-06-24

  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.
• 2022-06-24

  Correctly dispose of masks

  This is an Instagram post from ecowhizz_sa. This is a post advising people to dispose of their masks properly to protect the environment.
• 
  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.
• 
  2020-05-12

  Rediscovering Nature

  When I graduated high school, I moved to a different side of Houston, TX. I was quite reserved in my new environment. This was in part because the environment was a bit rough in some parts. However, once the pandemic took place, I decided to explore my surroundings a bit more. I discovered overall, the area was quite nice. In the process of exploring my environment; I decided to check out a park that was five minutes from my house. I had been to this park as a child because of it's proximity to the city's zoo. But, I never went as an adult. The park I discovered, which is known locally as Hermann Park was one of the best discoveries I ever made in my life. This park became my escape. My place of peace. A safe space away from the hustle and bustle of everyday city life. The sensecape was pleasant. The sounds of the birds chirping blissfully while watching a squirrel crawl up a tree brought me to a place of internal calmness I had never experienced before. I enjoyed lying between the trees either in my hammock or laying out on my blanket gazing at the sunset and enjoying the peace and tranquility of the inconspicuous indistinguishable sound of people talking who were coming and going.
• 
  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.
• 
  2020-05-29

  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.
• 
  2022-04-12

  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
• 
  2022-03-11

  Disposable Mask Pollution

  This is an Instagram post by zerowastesrilanka. This is a post advising people to cut the straps off of the mask before disposing of them because it can hurt ocean life. This is one major issue with mask mandates, since disposable masks are the most commonly worn. Having a buildup of too many masks places can hurt the environment, so this group is looking to let people know of how to properly dispose of a mask.
• 
  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.
• 
  2022-02-08

  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.
• 
  2022-02-06

  Nozomi park mask trash

  Mask trash by the parking lot at Nozomi Park.
• 
  2020-08-10

  Smelling the labor shortage

  Trash stinks. This fact is universally recognized, except, maybe, by raccoons and the like. Nobody likes to have trash around, let alone piled up and overflowing. And that's not something that most people have to really worry about. The – at least relative – cleanliness of the streets is taken for granted by the vast majority of people who are privileged enough to enjoy regular cleanup services. For most of my life, I placed my trash in a bag in a bin in my kitchen until it was full, or, if I made chicken for dinner, until I was done cooking. Then I took the bag out of the bin and out to the larger bin outside – out of sight, out of mind. When Sunday night rolled around, I emptied the kitchen bin one final time, took it out, and wheeled the larger bin to the sidewalk. It was empty when I woke up on Monday and thus began the cycle again. The city's sanitation workers faithfully took care of mine and everyone else's trash before the crack of dawn. But something changed one Monday morning in August 2020. I pulled in the driveway at 3:30pm after having just finished an exhausting shift at a coffee shop, where a third of my coworkers had called out sick over the course of that week. As I always do, I walked over to the bin, grabbed the handle, and started wheeling it back to its usual place by the back yard gate. It felt heavy. It wasn't full; I usually don't produce enough trash to fill it up every week. "Was today a holiday?", I thought to myself. No, it was just a regular Monday – as regular as any day could be post-March 2020. Maybe they were just behind schedule. I kept walking back to the back yard gate and. as usual, I spun the bin around intending to just walk away. Being clumsy, I managed to set it off its balance and knocked it over. Trash spilled onto the ground and one of the bags broke open. The smell of rotting eggshells, an old hunk of cheese I found while cleaning out my refrigerator three days prior, and the, er, soiled, cat litter wafted upwards creating a smoldering cocktail of aromas that left me coughing. I got gloves and a mask (something I never would have owned six months back) and cleaned it up – no big deal. Tuesday came and still there was no sign of the sanitation workers. Sunday arrived and again I wheeled the bin to the road; this time it was so full that the lid would not fully close. I assumed that last week's interruption of service was a one-off. As I got home from work Monday and saw the bin still full, I realized the degree to which I had been taking the trash service for granted. I wheeled it back to the gate, went inside, and opened up the news app on my computer. I stumbled across an article about the disproportionate affects of COVID-19 on essential workers. The lack of service was not a one-off, it was a problem. Recent photos of streets littered with trash and overflowing bins abounded when I did a Google search for them. I went outside to go for a walk. That smell – the cocktail of cheese, eggs, and cat litter – was now at my front door. Similar cocktails emanated from each house I walked past, each with their own garnish, so to speak. It was overpowering. It was the first time I had experienced the result of our modality of living in such a visceral, sensory way. But beyond my own discomfort and beyond the discomfort of my neighbors' similar experiences, that overpowering stench that saturated the air made me conscious of the people who clean it up for me every week. It made me conscious of the degree to which we as a society depend of them and people who perform other services we take for granted. It highlighted, in a very stark way, what our society prioritizes above the health of its people. The sanitation workers don't make very much money. They have to go to work, even if they are sick, because lack of guaranteed sick time even in the midst of a raging pandemic puts their lives at risk. Either way, their lives are at risk.
• 
  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.
• 
  2021-02-16

  A Journey for the Jab

  With the start of 2021, I was excited for the prospect of the vaccines that were starting to get rolled out. I knew at the beginning that I would be one of the firsts to get it because I was a teacher in Texas, where we had only had 3 weeks of online school, and the rest of the year had been in person. That high risk meant that by the end of January, the first week teachers were allowed to get the first shot, I signed up at the nearest hospital who had the Pfizer vaccine. The first one went without a hitch, with barely some soreness in my arm in the week following. It is the second shot that was a bit derailed. The week I was supposed to get my second shot, Texas was hit by one of the worst snow storms we have ever faced, and millions lost power. My apartment had rolling black outs the first day, and my apartment became colder and colder. My partner and I initially thought to stick it out, piling cover after cover of blankets and huddling close for warmth. Then, at 6PM that night, the power went out and never came back and we were driven into darkness and the cold seeped into our bones. We made the decision to suffer the cold, icy roads, and the long journey to my partner’s parents’ house, which had not lost power. We packed up the food in coolers, feeling for what may have spoiled during the blackouts, and feeling for what remained cold and frozen. We shoved as much as would fit and headed out. The drive is normally only 35 minutes, but with no snow tires and ice everywhere, we could not travel more than 30 miles an hour. As we reversed out of our spot, you could immediately feel the tires lose their traction and hear them spin loosely over the ice that had gathered under the truck. As we began our journey, the heater finally began blasting our faces with air that slowly began to warm up, and started the long process of thawing our frozen limbs. Two hours on this slow trek, constantly worried about sections of black ice, and losing control of tires, both ours and others, but we finally made it to their home. The first thing we noticed when we entered through their door was the strong smells of hot chocolate being prepared on the stove. The next day, when my appointment was set for the second dose of the vaccine, I called and asked if they were still giving the vaccine or if I should reschedule, and was told that I would lose my spot if I rescheduled because they only had so many doses at this time and did not want to have any go to waste. My partner’s parents decided to drive all of us to the hospital. Several times on this trip, we heard the squeal and slam of cars losing control of their cars and careening into one another. We all held our breaths at each close encounter, and did not realize until we reached the hospital how we had all clenched our bodies in tension. It was not until we pulled into the parking garage that I heard all of us let out a collective sigh of relief. I went in for my second shot as the family stayed on the first floor, waiting out of the cold but away from the mass of bodies huddling to be let into the hospital. Inside, I quickly walked down the hall, not wanting to make my partner and his family have to wait too long for me, and I was gently guided through the path by the volunteer staff. Because of the cold, I had worn three long sleeve layers, and found after much stretching that it was not possible for the nurse to get at my arm to receive the shot. Feeling the burn on my cheeks in embarrassment, as I had to publicly remove the top to layers, and pull my bottom shirt over my head. The cold of the room chilled my body, and I had to stop myself from shivering. With the second shot complete, and as I headed to the room to wait the required 20 minutes to make sure I did not have any immediate reaction to the shot, I was stopped dead in my tracks when I saw my partner and his family being ushered into the room. My partner was not yet eligible for the shot, and we both had had arguments with his parents about the shots, since they didn’t believe in needing them. I later found out that a nurse had been looking in the hospital lobby for anyone who hadn’t had their shots to come up because they had 5 extra shots that would be expiring if no one received them soon. Somehow, my partner in that split moment where they were being given this golden opportunity, shouted yes for all of them, and began shoving his parents down to the room before they could protest. Once we had all piled back into the truck after all four of us received our shots, we went home as quickly as we safely could. Though I had had no reaction to the first shot, this second dose threw me for a loop. That night, the chills began. Even as the house had its heat blasting on full, and I was sitting as close to the fireplace as I could safely sit, my teeth could be heard chattering across the living room. My head began pounding, and I fell into a deep sleep an hour later. Thankfully, the cold was gone from my body when I awoke the next morning, and two days later, the snow had melted enough, and our power was restored to return home. The pandemic has induced so much fear and anxiety in all of us over these last two years, have really made me so much more aware of those around me, but for me, when I think about the vaccines, and the reluctance of those who can receive them but don’t, I think about the treacherous journey I was forced to make to get mine. I think about the cold. I think about the squealing tires. I think about how terrible I felt after my second dose. And I also think about the relief at knowing that all of this awfulness led to my partner’s parents suddenly getting vaccinated. For that alone, I would experience the fear of the snowstorm once again.
• 
  2020

  Scents of Indoor-Focused Life

  When the pandemic began in earnest in March 2020, I was, like so many others, caught pretty unawares. I had heard in passing of the existence of the covid virus, but was pretty ignorant overall of the rapid spread and severity of it. I worked in a customer service job at the time, and as it happened, continued to do so through the rest of 2020, 2021, and now the beginning of 2022. While some businesses closed down in spring 2020, my workplace was considered to be essential, and so I continued to go to work everyday as if nothing had happened. Except it had, and would continue to do so, growing worse as time went on. I, always having been a bit of a homebody, immediately searched for ways to find regularity and comfort at home, where I spent all of my time that wasn't at work. I've always found the sense of smell to be very compelling, if only because so many memories can be associated with them. Getting that one whiff of a fried pastry in your own house, for example, might bring to mind that funnel cake you had at the amusement park as a kid. In spring 2020, I bought a selection of scented candles in a saga of online shopping, all of them based off some book or character from such. I've always taken comfort in my favorite books, movies, television shows, etc., and thought that extending that escapism in one more way might help me out as work became ever more stressful. I quickly discovered that this was very true, and started looking for and purchasing many more candles, a hobby that has continued to this day. I'm sure my bank account does not appreciate it, but my mental health does. I can still connect certain candle scents to days I felt particularly at peace at certain points throughout the last few years; a whiff of vanilla musk and rose wafting through the house, for example, reminds me of that day I had off in summer 2021 where I had new records to play, read a new book by my favorite author, and just enjoyed the day with my dog. It's hard for a lot of people, including myself, to find moments like that through the pandemic. My candles, and the ongoing memories and peace they bring to mind, have helped me find some semblance of happiness through the covid experience.
• 
  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.
• 
  04/25/2021

  Lou Fraise Oral History, 2021/04/25

  Dr. Lewis Fraise details his service as a geriatric doctor during the Korean War and Vietnam War. He mentions his service in both Washington D.C. and Korea and continues to break down how the Coronavirus actually infects one's body and the response of the government as the pandemic ensued. Dr. Fraise criticizes the actions of Donald Trump and states that the spread of more medically-accurate information would have led to a better outcome in terms of the early stages of the pandemic.
• 2020-07-13

  Running to Have a Feeling of Escaping Pandemic

  With no long commute time to and from school, running became something I did often. I would go to the park and look at the lake after my run to see the sunset. I got to appreciate being outside more and getting fresh air. To feel the breeze by my sides as I ran. was relieving.
• 
  2021-12-10

  Lauren Leonard and Ryan BreucknerOral History, 2021/12/10

  A discussion with a peer about what we have learned about the COVID-19 pandemic through learning about other pandemics.
• 
  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.
• 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.
• 2020-03-29

  Eau de Sanitizer: A Home Fragrance

  The early days of quarantine were quiet and calm, as the streets around my home in Southern California were filled with silence since there were fewer cars and people roaming outdoors. Sanitizer and rubbing alcohol were in high demand, and in heavy rotation in our home, as everything that came in was wiped, sprayed, and cleaned before being put away. I remember coming home from the store and wiping down every item with alcohol and sanitizer, and I remember wiping down every counter, surface, and phone. Afterwards, the house was filled with the sharp and dismal aroma of rubbing alcohol, as the fragrance mimicked a well-diffused scented candle. The distinctive scent wafted throughout the living room and lingered within the walls, the drapes, and the furniture. It became the scent of March 2020, and a home fragrance which lacked the expected or traditional calming or soothing properties of a candle or diffuser that is placed in a room. Every outing resulted in rubbing alcohol-infused surroundings, which served as a constant reminder of the changing climate. Eau de Sanitizer recalled the uneasiness, fear, and chaotic shops of the early pandemic, as it was a fragrant reminder of the unknown. The memory of that spring is tied to the scent of rubbing alcohol, and now every time I light a candle in my living room I am reminded of those early days.
• 2021-10-14

  When Silence took over Las Vegas

  I live in a city bursting with lights, music, wonder, excitement, tourists, and opportunity – Las Vegas, known throughout the world for its casinos and world-class entertainment. Two of its most popular attractions are the Las Vegas Strip and the Fremont Street Experience. The Las Vegas Strip, an almost 5-mile section of Las Vegas Boulevard, is filled with an array of sparkling and neon lights showcasing casinos, hotels with thousands of rooms, restaurants, and entertainment venues -- always bustling with people. My absolute favorite sight and sound along this part of the drive is the spectacular Bellagio Fountains. As you continue on a couple of miles past The Strat, you are introduced to the sights, sounds, and smells of the Fremont Street Experience in historic downtown Las Vegas. Whether I am driving by or enjoying a night out, I love to hear the sounds of the Fremont Street Experience, where crowds of locals and tourists enjoy music along with its famous unique experiences. The Slotzilla Zipline zips laughing and screaming people above the noisy crowds looking up to see them glide under the world's largest digital display while presenting light and sound shows. It is a carnival-like atmosphere within a 6-block street party. Free bands play simultaneously on several stages along the street, while people sing and dance in the streets and have a good time. All ages find it perfect for date nights, parties, or hanging out. Then along came the dark shadow of COVID, shutting down Las Vegas, and the music stopped. The Fremont Street Experience became quiet. It was no longer a place where you could hear different kinds of music coming from multiple areas. No bands were playing your favorite dance songs or rock and roll. Fremont just became a regular street with noiseless empty hotels and restaurants. The stages were silent and bare, and the crowds' shouting, laughter, and singing disappeared. Fremont was quiet for the first time in its history. The excitement and joy were gone. It was no longer a fun place to go, and the silence felt eerie and hauntingly incongruent. Fremont, like much of Las Vegas, felt, looked, and sounded like a ghost town. Now, as we open back up to the public and the crowds return, I once again hear the laughter, the bustle of people, and live music when I drive past or show up. Fremont is back, and now there is only a memory of when the sound of silence was all that filled the air.
• 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.
• 
  2020-03-13

  A, C, E Line 23rd Street

  This video was taken on March 13, 2020 on my way home from my last day of in-person work at my gallery where I was employed at the time. I sent this video to my family who lived outside the city and the severity of the situation had not yet hit the town where they lived. Waiting on an empty subway platform after my workplace had shuttered its doors was surreal. I think many of us had a personal experience that we could identify as the moment when we were hit by the realization of how serious the pandemic was (and is).
• 
  2020-05-05

  Forgotten Nature

  During the pandemic, I've noticed a good number of people take steps to deepen their connection with nature by hiking, gardening, and even just sitting outside for a while. I took a few short trips around Arizona and found great viewing and hiking spots. This here was in Prescott, Arizona at Thumb Bute.
• 
  2020-09-08

  A Covid-19 road trip

  I have submit a photograph of the cable car below me surrounded by fog in the Redwood Forest in California. This is fond memory of mine in the midst of Covid-19.
• 
  2021-09-28

  The trashiest place on earth

  Mask trash at Disneyland California
• 
  2021-09-22

  Mask trash near the bike rack

  A disposable mask was discarded/lost by the bike rack near the COOR building on campus.
• 
  2021-09-23

  Disposable mask on campus

  A disposable mask on the ground early in the morning before 9AM classes begin.
• 
  2020-03-07

  Strengthening friendships and learning new hobbies

  When COVID-19 hit the states back in March of 2020, I was a freshman in college. I was sent home to and had to take the rest of my classes from home, for what we thought would be two weeks. Boy, was I wrong, two weeks turned into the longest and most memorable summer vacations of my life. When we had been sent home me and my three best friends wanted to make the most out of the time we were given, so we turned to our hobbies, which was fishing. Ever day I woke up earlier than I would have while at school. I found myself to be busier and more active during the pandemic due to all our fishing adventures. My relationships grew plentifully with my friends, and I was able to do well in school all at the same time. Throughout the pandemic I consider myself to be very lucky and blessed to not know anyone personally who had died from COVID-19, and I am beyond grateful for that. Not everyone is able to say the same. Even though I was active during the pandemic does not mean I did not take it seriously, we made sure to wear our masks, and practice social distancing. My friends and I decided that fishing would be the perfect activity to be safe while all still being together. We fished 7 days a week and gained so many new insightful skills and memories during our time. One fond memory that I have from the pandemic is when my friends and I went into a lagoon in the beginning of May when the ice had just melted, and the water was unbearably cold. At the time we didn’t have waders so we went in with whatever boots that we could find from home the water was much deeper than we had anticipated, by the time we made it through to our location that we wanted to fish in all our pants were soaked to our waists but that didn’t stop us from making it to our destination. I will never forget that day because it was a Tuesday in the middle of the day and we all had classes. It’s a great memory and I will never forget it because it was so unique compared to anything we have ever done in our lives prior to.
• 
  2021-08-15

  Time

  For me, the pandemic brought a new found attention to the passing of time. My hope for a post-pandemic life is one where we continue to find time for the things we most appreciate and enjoy - like a walk on the beach at low tide.
• 
  2021-09-03

  Mask trash at Forest Ave

  Mask trash near the pick up-drop off at Forest Ave on ASU's campus.