When lockdown began and friends said they were staying in for three months - which seemed like oceans of time - I made a mental list of all the things I could do in that twelve week block. And, of course, some on my list have been achieved. Alas, others haven’t even seen daylight.
I remember one gorgeous, hot morning in early April. All three neighbouring houses were living their lives in their gardens. Johnson had already succumbed to coronavirus and my neighbours and I were discussing, over the garden fence, whether it would change his opinion of the NHS, which was saving his life, and turn support for it into reality. I was cynical.I doubted it. And I happily went about painting our shed in a smart shade of teal.
Over the next few days I managed to get new fence panels and a bench similarly painted. Richard dug up surplus plants which I sold from our garden gate - with hand sanitiser available - for charity. I had lots of energy at the start of lockdown. I saw other neighbours were giving away tomato plants, which I couldn’t easily get hold of, for a variety of reasons. So I collected them without hesitation and shared them. Walking up and down the middle of empty roads with my shopping trolley in the baking heat. Trading plants for other goods. This felt like being in another country. A different age.
And then the hard work started: I had sown dwarf French beans and courgettes. I also wanted to plant seed potatoes and broad beans. The ground, if you recall, was getting drier and drier. Thankfully we have a 120 foot hose. But digging in the heat on rock hard soil with my age-old back issue was challenging.
Richard helped carry heavy pots on to the patio for me and I weeded our front garden too. But I had a fear. The fear of how we were going to feed ourselves since our local supermarket had failed to give us delivery slots despite the fact we were ‘priority’ customers. Much of my time in April was spent finding local suppliers who would deliver dairy ( Fine Cheese Company) beans and pulses ( Scoops) and flour, yeast, my favourite yogurt and ice cream ( Farm shops) and the dreaded disinfectant. I was lucky that our local WhatsApp group was truly supportive. They suggested other farm shops that delivered bulk items and they added my requirements to their own shopping lists. Our corner shop couldn’t cope with the rules of social distancing and its doors closed. It truly was hard trying to plan for simple things like getting in milk, butter and eggs. It had become second nature to pop to our little corner shop for such items. And trying to get the weekend Guardian or Observer was a fretful affair.
Also on my list of things to get done during lockdown was to
a) learn how to make decent gravy instead of the hit-and-miss concoctions I was serving
b) to get my writing out to competitions
c) to encourage Richard to get painting again and
d) to sort boxes and boxes in our study bedroom and guest bedroom and sell some books.
It has taken me until the last fortnight to get my writing and culinary sauces honed to perfection. But I can safely tick them off my list. I even managed to get my w/e newspaper delivery sorted. Again, with great thanks to neighbours.
Throughout April and early May I was possibly over-concerned about our food requirements. And I had too much time for bright ideas. For instance I recall getting very tired taking books to sell to our front gate every morning. It was on top of hardening off dwarf French beans, tomatoes and courgettes. By 29th May I had put on 4 lb in weight but at least all my plants were in their growing positions and the garden was looking truly cared for. And I’d sold surplus books and plants and made money for charity.
Another friend was supplying me with heavy bags of bark, compost and gravel and he created legs for my raised beds so that I didn’t have to bend to weed them. But I needed to go for walks! The beauty of true summer afternoons is that you can sit in a deck chair, book and glass in hand, and simply enjoy the bees buzzing in the laburnum tree overhead. I’d achieved a lot by early June but I wasn’t keeping fit nor taking my permitted walks. I liked sitting under the tree too much.
By late May my supermarket finally offered me regular delivery slots and the strain of not knowing what space to keep in the freezer nor of knowing which foods to reorder via neighbours was beginning to evaporate. And then the rains came. I managed to get a cold from hosting friends in our garden in the threatening drizzle. I think temperatures had dropped by 15 degrees or more over a couple of nights. But I was getting grocery deliveries! And I was doing zoom pub quizzes, zoom book group and online arty submissions.
But I never did get around to doing a lot of sorting of boxes in our study and guest bedroom. Even in the wet weather I chose to do my exercises and sort recipes which would help me lose weight rather than go through paperwork. And because I’d got tired running the house and garden as well as being my husband’s carer and cook I took up my neighbours’ offer - they run a take away fish shop - to deliver to me on Fridays. Friends and I gathered at a distance in my garden for fish & chips, or pizza instead, to help support the local pub. Take aways released me from cooking. And safe socialising outdoors was the way forward.
At the end of June the speak-your-weight machine at our surgery told me that Richard was a lot healthier. His weight and blood pressure were excellent. But in feeding him up I’d overfed myself. Since my own terrible results told me I was too heavy I’ve lost weight again and have taken up a stricter exercise regime. My BMI is healthier too. But it’s all too easy to take your eye off the ball.
You would think that earthing up potatoes and doing gardening jobs, cleaning, cooking, walking to the chemist and taking Richard’s morning meals up two flights of stairs to him would take off the weight. I believe it would if I didn’t succumb to eating my homemade bread, apple crumble and carrot cake. I still have to learn the hard way, it seems.
From the beginning of July grocery shopping has been an altogether more relaxed activity. And local farm shop and meat deliveries have helped enormously. And from last week our corner shop reopened. That means I have choices and don’t now have to order goods to last a month. At one point I had a spread sheet showing all the groceries in our freezer, fridges and kitchen cupboards and how many freezer drawers were full or free. There are only two of us. It was like the planning required when feeding an army.
I can be excused, then, from not ticking off everything on my ‘to do’ list. As lockdown eases, albeit temporarily, and my garden plants flower ( against the odds) and the home-grown veg is ready for picking one is apt to forget the efforts required to get to this point. At one time I thought my borders and patio were to be devoid of colour for most of 2020. But I was wrong. I thought I’d run out of milk. I was wrong. I thought we wouldn’t see friends again for a drink. I was wrong. I thought I wouldn’t manage running our house, home and garden. I was wrong. I thought I couldn’t make gravy. I was wrong.
Lockdown has given me the time to concentrate. I’ve managed to read for bookgroup, do my writing, submit some of my own art work even, and keep a roof over our heads. We haven’t gone without.
And this time of quiet and calm has made me appreciate my neighbours and neighbourhood. What kindly, supportive folk they are.
I am already missing the empty, traffic-free roads. I miss the Thursday evening clapathon. I miss ice cream left on my front step and bags of veg and cream teas from neighbours. And I miss sitting on my deckchair under my tree in the heat. But I don’t miss the uncertainty. Never again do I want to worry where my next litre of milk is coming from.
Next on my ‘to do’ list (still): sort those bloody boxes in our spare rooms...
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