Animals Need Social Distancing Too

Corona virus

Photo: WebMD.com

A comedic uncle called today to ask how we are surviving in our lockdown quarantine, if we have food and medicine, if we are lonely, cabin feverish, closer than ever, or ready to kill each other.  

He told us that his son and best friend were coming out of their police-imposed two-week quarantine upon their return flight from a European Union country. The police made sure they went straight home and stayed there for two weeks. In order to provide groceries and medication for his elderly parents, his son could now receive a special travel document within the city presentable to police roadblocks upon request.

My uncle did not seem to be too upset about the lockdown  – having survived decades of totalitarian communism, he was used to road blocks, travel restrictions, curfews, and those aggressive and drunk on their power comrade underlings shouting, “show me the papers.”

We were all used to being told which buildings we could enter, which zones we could access, which stores we could shop in, and which were verboten to the proletariat minions.

We walked slowly past areas out of reach for us, wondering what was behind the tall walls, the wired fences, and behind the fancy closed gates and doors with armed guards in sight, patrolling back and forth with menacing looks.

Even the dollar shops, not the type where items cost a dollar, but those which sold goods in hard currency, German marks and U.S. dollars, had guards posted outside to make sure no unwashed masses made it passed the doors. Merchandise that we could only dream of was on sale for foreign visitors, the communist elites and their cronies, who could own foreign currency without the fear of being jailed or worse.

The city hall was off limits to foreign nationals and it upset foreign visitors greatly that they had so little freedom of movement – they could not wait to go back to their countries like the U.S. where people were allowed to enter any public buildings.

The population learned to despise closed doors and lack of access because it infringed even further on their loss of personal freedom. Few remembered the time during the monarchy when they could have walked freely into any buildings. But when the socialists took power, everything changed and the collective memory disappeared, subjugated to the new socialist indoctrination.

It was bad enough being kept prisoner within the borders of the country, without any possibility of ever escaping to the free world even for a short visit, but to be told that you could not enter certain places in your own country, was much worse.

It’s not that we were envious. We just wanted some freedom of movement, choice, and speech. We could see how the elites lived, where they lived, how they drove personal cars while we walked, took the bus and the train, how they went on lavish vacations, to restaurants that we were not even allowed in, much less afford to dine there on a bare minimum salary.

So, we all learned to despise locked doors and gates, those who locked them and kept us away, and the heavily armed menacing guards who kept us at a safe distance.

To this day, my heart skips a beat when someone wants to see “my papers” and I get angry when I see a closed door or gate to something that taxpayers like me have paid for to develop, i.e. a park, a museum, a forest, a memorial, and a famous landmark maintained with taxpayer money.

The huge national forest nearby was closed. Sixteen thousand acres of thick woods with endless trails, waterfalls, and creeks seemed like a good place to get away from people and keep a safe distance from human contact and potential spread of the Corona virus, but the benevolent bureaucrats who care so much about our health thought otherwise and locked us out. After all, it is for our own good, for the collective good.

Even the boardwalk over the swamp was closed as well, perhaps animals, birds, fish, turtles, beavers, and snakes need six feet of “social distancing” too.  One young man, ignoring the locked gate, had jumped the fence and was walking alone on the boardwalk, enjoying the serenity and sounds of nature. Nobody was going to keep this guy away from nature, not even a locked gate.

Do we really understand that quarantine was designed to restrict the movements of the sick or the potentially sick while the movements of the healthy are being restricted by bureaucratic authoritarianism?

It is very difficult to discern facts from misinformation coming from the global and national main stream media, various government entities, and individuals in positions of power, so ordinary and confused citizens imagine biological, economic, and psychological warfare coming from China in partnership with international communists/globalists and the domestic segments of both knowledgeable and ignorant “resistance,” the one that never stopped trying to get rid of the duly-elected President Trump.

After ruminating over the locked gates, we went back home to start our third week of government-imposed “lockdown/social distancing.” I don’t know why but the feelings of dread I had under the socialist regime decades ago enveloped me again and hung like a heavy cloak.







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Morning Walk

The July morning is gloomy. A drizzling rain does not deter me from going for a walk in the woods. A cool 66 degrees is a welcome respite from the 100 degree temperatures of a few days ago. It had been so hot, the asphalt on the tarmac at Reagan National Airport in D.C. had melted underneath a plane.

It must have rained really hard last night - all creatures are still taking shelter. A downpour cleared the path of dead leaves – tree roots are clearly visible through the forest floor like pumped veins full of chlorophyll, the blood of the woods.

I am disappointed that I do not run into any deer with their lovely fawn, or the red fox staring me in the face intently and defiantly, the occasional rabbit crossing my path, or squirrels darting to and fro.

The rain intensifies but the thick canopy sifts the large raindrops into a mist that cools my skin. The silence is soothing and comforting. I forget about the world in turmoil outside of the dense forest.

The path winds up and down along downed trees from the recent straight line winds. Sixty foot giant pines will be slowly devoured by parasites and rot, turning them into soil-enriching dust. I reach the Snake Bridge. I baptized the walking bridge after the snake I encountered one late afternoon - he was resting in a coiled position after a satisfying meal bulging from his belly. The water underneath is higher, teeming with small fish and frogs. I do not see any snakes, they must be hiding too.

Steep stairs guide me to the road. I walk alongside the road until I reach the river. The water level is high against the banks. A lone fisherman is casting from his boat, stopped in the middle of the Potomac. A light fog envelopes the banks on both sides. A father and daughter team are fishing underneath the railroad bridge. The fish are really biting. I wonder if they are catching catfish or snakeheads, an invasive species from Asia. Someone had dumped their aquarium pets into the river and they are multiplying like crazy. A man caught an 18-pound snakehead in the Potomac near historic Occoquan. Fishermen catch them for rewards; others eat them as a delicacy. Snakeheads certainly do not look appetizing to me. It is amazing that they can breathe out of water and actually crawl on the ground.

Walking along the river’s edge, water is lapping against driftwood and rocks, very close to my path. As I reach the forest on the other side, I hear the whistle of a slow-moving freight train, barreling towards the bridge. I am wet now; there are no trees to protect me for a short distance. As I enter the woods again, I cross three more walking bridges. The water is lapping underneath my feet, making the wooden planks quite slippery. A few ducks are out on the river’s edge, catching a morning snack.

I turn around and backtrack into the main forest, careful to watch my footing. The ground is soaking wet and treacherous at best. The smell of rain, wet soil, and rotting vegetation is intoxicating. The drizzling rain looks like a sheer curtain draping the tall trees in the finest silk. My shirt and hair are soaked. Tiny beads of rain trickle down my face, cooling my neck and chest. I take a few photographs – nature is alive with shades of luminous greens, yellows, and chocolaty browns. A few white and yellow flowers in the middle of the marsh look like lost hibiscus. The lotus leaves are a luscious shade of green.