Covid-19 has taught me something I’ve been trying to learn my entire adult life: We can grow, move on, and experience “new pastures.” We can fight for change but to do so, we must not forget to keep intact the roots of all the freedoms we enjoy, which are often the smaller ones we tend to take for granted.

It seems that God is going to deduct this entire year out of our paychecks. Everything these days—the past, the present and the future—is at a standstill. We are living inside a horizontal hourglass. Within this parenthesis, I feel wealthy:

Now, as a Political Science and English double major, I feel like I need to find a way to explain this bubble we have had to slowly construct around ourselves. I write my way through these enclosures because it’s a quaint little form of escapism. At the same time, I wanted to do it through structure: through T.S. Eliot’s “The Hollow Men.”

“It’s just like a snow day,” I say to the bank teller.  Except that it's not snowing, and the driving conditions are fine. Ah to be muffled in white—we may as well have been— the streets and storefronts were that quiet. Everything blanketed in stillness.

I’m social distancing like a modern Victorian heroine: Edith Wharton’s Lily Bart in The House of Mirth meets Henry James’ Daisy Miller (except with a happier ending—I’m no fragile flower).

As we enter the second month of this unprecedented lockdown, we are having to accept a new way of living that is taking place almost exclusively in our homes. Interior Designer and Lifestylist Joshua Smith shares some ways to lean into the new normal.

Childhood, for many of us, is a “feeling” coupled with a few scattered memories - snippets of stories that usually grow blurry over time. Often, we remember more about how events, people, and places made us feel, than what actually transpired. Land preservation holds space for that feeling, and during the crisis of Covid-19, it should be celebrated. 

The love affair began with a getaway weekend to The Mayflower Inn and Spa in the summer of 2005. I was a full time New Yorker and a young lawyer, recently married and expecting my first baby. After a long, lazy day by the pool, we were off to dinner. My husband held my hand as I teetered over the antique floor boards, making my way through the picturesque country lobby in impractical high heels. As we waited to be seated, I caught my first glimpse of the Tap Room.

This is the first of an essay series that will be published every Monday for as long as social distancing is necessary. All pieces written by Litchfield County residents. If you are interested in submitting an essay for consideration please email Mary Beth at [email protected].