Dear Readers, Can you believe it’s been five years since we were in the throes of the pandemic, with our parks locked up and uncertainty heavy in the air? This week, my photo memories reminded me that around this time in 2020, I’d written about a blissful day on the river with my boys. We’d found access to a quiet stretch of water through private property, and it felt like an escape hatch, offering a moment of reprieve in the middle of all the fear and unknown.
I’ve been reflecting a lot lately about that strange time in our global memory as we shared a beautiful and compelling sense of unity, springing forth and blooming during those early pandemic days. Folks exchanged homemade bread for toilet paper, hand-sewn masks for art supplies, garden vegetables for wine, and neighborly favors abounded. We certainly lived in fear, but we also engaged in something that looked an awful lot like grace.
That glorious river day sticks with me. It was facilitated by the kindness of a villager who granted us the privilege of using her access.The sunshine and cool waters were refreshing and calm, and there was solace behind what it meant: that even in the middle of global crisis, there is always joy that’s still to be found. We could be present and still, and we could continue to paddle on.
