Island in the Raging River

I walked to the River of Life, March 2020, only to find the dam upstream had broken and the river was
raging, roaring past me. A virus, now in worldwide Pandemic proportion, shut down life nearly
immediately. There was no testing the water as far as my job as Hospice Chaplain was concerned. I had
to go with the flow and the daily changes that were taking place.

However, my neighborhood in little Alfred, Maine (population roughly 3000) was an ‘island’ in the
raging river. Neighbors managed to stay connected. In March, on a Maine temperate late afternoon,
around a warming fire, as the sun was setting and darkness settled on the fields. I enjoyed hot dogs with
the fixings and a little wine to warm our bellies with Nancy, Rick, Sue, Mike and Julie. Our dogs, hovered
near in hopes of a hand out. At this gathering we didn’t talk much about the pandemic. That news had
not impacted us much in those early days.

By April, everything was shut down except essential needs. This affected us all. Toilet paper was hard to
find, shopping for groceries meant wearing a mask, ordering online for pick up or delivery. Shopping in
person meant we followed arrows up an aisle, down an aisle. Most of all everyone was to isolate from
any gatherings. Many people’s jobs moved to remote work at home. School children were at home.
Teachers had to switch rapidly to find new ways to connect with students. Zoom online quickly became
a way of life to connect to work, school and family. Here in rural Maine our next ‘island’ gathering was
in the yard beside Jill’s old barn. We brought our own snack, a drink of choice and a chair to sit six feet
or more from each other. Conversation kept us connected with our stories of what was happening in
the news and if anyone knew someone who was sick. Now this virus had a name, Covid-19. The
numbers of infected people, those in hospitals and those on ventilators climbed. Our little ‘island
gathering’ kept us sane and connected. CDC, both local and national put out guidelines for group
gatherings. We as well as others were changing summer family vacation plans in concordance.

The general rule for everyone: Wash your hands often, practice social distancing, wear face coverings,
disinfect surfaces, and stay home if you’re sick.

Outdoor activities were encouraged for all. Many campgrounds were closed or had strictly limited
access. It may sound silly since these neighbors all live within half a mile of each other. Our next “island
gathering” was held over Memorial Day weekend in May. Those with campers brought them to Jill’s
field, Mike and Sue, Rick and Nancy, and Jill’s sister and brother-in-law. Julie and I without campers,
stayed at our respective homes nearby. Campers were set a distance apart, food, conversation and
music were shared well past dark around a blazing camp fire. Mike played a favorite tune of each person
from his phone.

As the virus and its emotional effects seeped into humanity around the world life seemed to be falling
apart. Our ‘island’ gathered again sometime in June, bring your own chair, own snack/drink and sit at a
distance around another warming fire at Mike and Sue’s. By now masks were mandatory in stores.
Restaurants were shut down. People were out of work. Those on our ‘island’ were mostly retired
except for Julie whose work had moved to her home and on zoom calls. Isolation from each other
became a detriment to many relationships, especially the elderly in nursing homes confined to their
individual rooms. However, relationships and care grew within our little ‘island’ gatherings.

The “current in the river” was shifting rapidly. George Floyd died as a result of a cop’s knee pinning him
down for nine minutes. This event unleashed a torrent of protest around the world questioning justice and yet again, brought racial awareness to the forefront with street protests. Healthcare workers were
struggling to provide care within the system that could not provide enough PPE (personal protective
equipment). A large boulder in the river split the current of politics in the National election of 2020
between Donald Trump and Joe Biden.

Our ‘island’ here in Alfred, gathered again in late summer 2020 at Sue and Mike’s for an old-fashioned
summer picnic giving us all the gift of connection.

As I write this in the last days of 2021, it is clear to me that humanity is in the midst of monumental
change. Now, the river is part of a tidal current. Rising and falling with the coming in and going out of
the tide, doubling back upon itself frequently as the river water continues its journey to combine in the
ocean. What that combining looks like we cannot yet know. People around the world are bringing
awareness to global climate changes and are trying new ways to heal the planet where fires have raged,
or where humans have stripped the land for profit. As this virus plagues us with variations, our health
system is collapsing under the weight and begs for care instead of profit. Our educators who have had
to learn new ways of teaching amidst unvaccinated children are struggling to retain history and forge
new understanding. Just about every law enforcement agency is faced with the challenges of safety for
all and the balance of human dignity.

Right here on this little ‘island’ in Alfred Maine, neighbors will continue to walk the fields, checking the
river’s current. We will gather and care for each other around a warming fire with food, and life will go
on.