My youngest granddaughter turned two on St. Patrick’s Day. We –grandma, aunts, uncles, cousins –weren’t there, even though she lives in Rockland. We’ve only glimpsed her sleeping in her car seat on the occasional Sunday drop-by dooryard visit, as we all shiver and chat in this beastly “spring” weather we’ve been enjoying.

I’m really not complaining. Plenty of grandmas and grandpas have only seen theirs on Skype or Facetime or Zoom. And in fact, Nora’s other grandma lives in Taiwan and hasn’t seen her since last summer, though they talk and see each other every morning. Nora’s growing up bilingually, English and Mandarin, with some Korean thrown in.

This past Sunday was warm enough for us all to hang out together in the garden, still appropriately apart, no hugs, but plenty of talk and laughter. Nora played in the freshly turned-over dirt of our garden beds, finding the Red Rose Tea figures I’d salted it with last fall. (Not knowing what else to do with the bagful of little China figures I’d been given awhile ago, I decided to sprinkle them in the beds for some future gardener to find.)

Nora was startled and then laughed at the rooster’s crowing, quickly mimicking the “cockadoodle.” She’s talking a lot now, and even called me Grandma for the first time.

I shared some seeds with Nora’s dad. Fedco, he told me, was no longer filling orders, there’s been such a rush on seeds this spring. We ordered right after Christmas so ours arrived months ago. And our chick order is in at Murray McMurray’s, due to come sometime in May, though now I’m anxious about seed potatoes. Must call around again today to see if someone’s got them.

Coping.

How are we all handling this state of emergency that’s closed all non-essential businesses, that’s closed eat-in restaurants, that’s told us to stay at home, work from home, stay six feet apart from each other?

We tend to congratulate each other a lot: aren’t we lucky, we say, to be stuck here, not in some tiny apartment in a crowded city? True, but then just up the road Tall Pines, where many of our oldest townspeople end their days, is seeing the worst of it. And if other senior facilities are so far free of the virus, imagine the daily vigilance that’s needed to keep them that way.

Families are finding ways to take care of one another. Janet stopped out front the other day to say hi – the usual window down, me six feet away – and to show me her grandbaby in the back seat. Her daughter, son-in-law and baby have been living with her since mid-March, leaving their Boston home to work remotely in the relative safety to be found here.

Liz, after weeks of careful distancing, has traveled to a New York suburb to stay with her elderly parents. She hopes to bring them back with her, but will stay as long as she can.

A man I know, son of a friend, decided not to work at his essential job since it would bring him in contact with too many people. His mother’s health is precarious; she wouldn’t fare well with the virus, and he needs to be available to her.

The multi-generational homesteads, like mine, see all facets of the situation: homeschooling, remote working, one person doing the grocery shopping. When Tracee left her job back in March it was to work with me in our weaving business. Instead, overnight, she found herself teacher for her three, and we saw a promising weaving proposal with a NYC museum evaporate, at least for now.

Don and I, firmly living-apart-together, consider ourselves one household in that we both strictly adhere to Tracee’s dictates. And that’s the right word. When she overheard me making plans to get together outside with friends “once it gets warm,” she gave me her best frown. But we get it.

She feels responsible for all of us, and we can’t let her down.

After Don’s strict 14-day quarantine when he came back from Florida, we could finally see one another inside, where it was warm. Neither of us have set foot inside a public place such as a store since early March, getting an occasional Big Mac at the drive-through or a pizza at the General Store. Oh, and a DQ ice cream now and then.

Ed is the grocery shopper for us all, venturing into Hannaford’s or Wentworth’s once a week or so with three shopping lists – theirs, mine, and Don’s.

We realize how persnickety we can be when there’s a specific brand or size that we prefer. Aren’t we spoiled with all the choices? Orange juice with some pulp, a lot of pulp, or no pulp? Really?

Then there are the personal items, some I’m running low on. Specific brand? Yes. Do I know just where to find them in the store? Not really, but I know where to look. It’s a lot to ask my son to do for me.

All my life, or ever since I grew out of my mother’s world, I’ve hated shopping. She was a great shopper, loved to spend whole afternoons roaming through stores while I groused and grumbled about being dragged along. When finally on my own, an aversion to shopping was my favorite trope. What a surprise to find how much I miss it!

I actually miss grocery shopping, once the bane of my life. I miss perusing the shelves, finding something that looks interesting or tasty, trying something new, seeing a bargain. I miss running into French and Brawn’s for a cup of hot soup or into Rockport Blueprint for a new brush, tube of paint or pad of paper.

And how I miss the Hannaford gauntlet, saying hi, stopping to chat with neighbors and friends, the 10 or 15 minutes you have to add to every grocery trip catching up with folks.

Belfast has lost its allure now that Fiddleheads’ fabrics and Helen’s Heavenly Yarns are off limits, even the Pet Store. I really want a couple of new fish, specifically two colorful gouramis, for my aquarium, plus I’ve run out of the special veggie tablets that my enormous pleco eats. He’s supposed to be an algae eater, but I swear it’s those veggie tablets he’s grown on.

And shoes. My favorite shoes have sprung leaks and Coburn’s is shuttered, too.

How about our hair? Unless you cut your own or have a willing spouse to do it (Wally used to brag that he hadn’t seen a barber since we got married) you’re starting to look pretty shabby. I had to hunt up a bobby pin the other day to get the hair out of my eyes. I miss my regular trips to Ann Marriner’s, where we caught up on our families while she snipped.

How are children faring? The three living upstairs give me a pretty good window on that situation.

With their mom’s full attention all morning they tackle the lessons their teachers have sent over, keeping up with the math and French skills appropriate for each grade, doing research projects into history, writing. The eight-year-old might be found sitting on the edge of the woods composing a poem, after a certain amount of coercion, that is.

This same boy has been known to climb up onto the top of the grape arbor to eat his cereal, while the 12-year-old wanders down to the pond to examine frog eggs. The 10-year-old has managed to keep a number of watermelon plants alive – 10, he tells me – on the window sill, a science project.

But how are they really doing? This strange interlude in their childhood has given them a kind of freedom that seems mixed. They miss their friends and seem to keep in touch by facetiming and game-playing. Does that replace actual playing together, bouncing off each other in the give and take of children left together? I wonder.

But as three siblings, they seem to get along pretty much as they always did. That is, forming alliances as three often do, leaving one out. The boys may align for a time, then their sister teams up with one or the other. The odd one out may howl for a minute, or just as likely, wander off to build a Lego thing, or read, or ride his bike around and around the garden.

Conrad is thriving. As I’ve noticed from various FB posts, pets are loving the Governor’s Stay At Home order. Conrad can’t believe his good fortune at finding his favorite people there for him 24/7. He especially loves playing in the spray when the eight-year-old gets hold of the hose. That’s almost as good as when he tries to catch snowballs lobbed his way.

Speaking of snow, we’ve had to cope with that, too, haven’t we, this unexpected April?

Stay at home. We really aren’t doing that, are we? But everyone seems to be honoring the six-foot rule, staying appropriately distant, wearing masks for the most part (I’m told), in stores. We get in our cars and drive around; people stop outside asking if we have eggs; we pull over on the road to chat with a neighbor. Now that it’s beginning to warm up a bit everyone’s walking more, on the Park’s trails, at the Beach. Our favorite walk is up and down Main Street, then around the Harbor, Library, and Amphitheater.

Everyone waves, just as if we lived on Islesboro!

As I write this morning, the crew from the school, in masks and gloves, is delivering our children’s meals for the next three days, putting them in the cooler we’ve left in the back of my truck.

With several restaurants offering take out meals, we can help them get through this grim time by occasionally ordering out. For some people, who eat out a lot anyway, this can be often. It’s one way those who aren’t being impacted financially, and many of us who are retired with pensions are doing all right, can help our community stay afloat.

I’ll be calling the pet store, the yarn store, and Green Thumb shortly for a couple of colorful fish, veggie tabs, some new yarn, and seed potatoes. I’ll give my credit card number, then, drive all around picking up those things at the curb with barely a single human interaction.

And never again will I complain about shopping.

Town

The Selectmen meet tonight via Zoom, and among other agenda items will consider delaying the annual Town Meeting, now scheduled for June. You can watch it on Channel 22 if you have cable or on You Tube; the link is on the Town’s website . PenBay Pilot has an article with all the information.

Candidates for town offices have returned their papers. Josh Gerritsen and Mike Ray are running for two Selectmen seats. Tracee O’Brien and John Williams are running for the two School Committee seats, and Dottie Lanphear is running for Budget Committee.