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| Wood Stove Fire |
On New Year’s Eve, I snuggled into my hewn log chair by the wood stove for a Pennsylvania goodbye to 2020. Imagining the year sitting in the chair across from me, I began with the term I’d learned from Carol, the newest township auditor.
The three elected auditors had gathered on my porch two months earlier. That balmy afternoon, we struggled, yet again, with the township finances. The quitting secretary-treasurers had recorded ledger nightmares. Two hours into that auditing session, Carol said, “I have to go. I need to cook for my church’s potluck tonight.”
She didn’t go.
She didn’t even pack her notebook, calculator, and markers.
She slammed her fist on the arm of the Adirondack chair. “The secretaries treated us with disrespect. They didn’t trust us with the books. They forced us to work beside smelly old machines in the dusty township building. I’m mad.”
She packed, stood, and never stopped talking. The fourth time she mentioned she had to leave, she paused on the top porch step and giggled. “Have you ever heard of a Pennsylvania goodbye?”
I looked at Nancy. Her face registered as clueless as mine must have.
“First you say you have to go but you stay seated and tell another story. Then you stand, say you have to leave, and tell another story.” Carol paused while I nodded at the ritual neighbors had practiced ever since Spence and I moved to Wells Wood. “You walk to the door and tell a story with your hand on the door knob. You do it again after you step outside, after you open the car door, then after you get inside and roll down the window.” Carol raised her arms and looked at the sky. “And what would you say to me if it were dark outside?”
“Watch out for the deer,” I blurted.
Bending over in laughter, Carol swung her hand toward me and dropped the car keys. “That’s right.” She picked up the keys and told a few more stories before leaving.
Goodbye horrid audits
Cherish PA goodbyes
Goodbye 2020
Orange flames licked logs in the wood stove. Twenty-twenty stood by its chair.
On March 12, having swum five-sixths of a mile, I climbed out of the pool, shivered, and waved to Diana. “Thanks for guarding. See you Monday.”
But the MARC down.
And medical appointments became telemedicine. Over the phone I told Deb, the nurse practitioner monitoring my bordering-on-bad cholesterol level, “I can’t swim laps now.”
Her gravelly voice ordered, “Walk at least half an hour a day.”
With my arthritis? Walking five minutes sent sharp stabs through my knees and hips.
Gritting my teeth, and with my husband at my side, I hobbled. Spence and I walked through the spring with tiny leaves unfurling and bird songs rejoicing—cheer-up-cherrily, conk-la-ree, birdie-birdie-birdie. We walked through summer with Diana fritillaries fluttering and wild honeysuckle perfuming the air. We walked through fall with leaves rustling under our feet and cool air tingling our lungs. We walked into winter with heads bent selecting places to step and studying animal tracks—trios of deer, a solo fox, and scurrying squirrels.
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| S & J Shadows |
No matter the season, neighbors stopped their vehicles and rolled down their windows for socially distanced chats. Those didn’t get Pennsylvania goodbyes. They ended when another vehicle drove down the road.
Walks lengthened. My knees and hips only ached. Plunging into a swimming pool? The idea seems as absurd as walking a mile or more once sounded.
Goodbye endless closings
Cherish walks in nature
Goodbye 2020
The wood stove clanked while 2020 walked to the door.
How many Black lives ending in police encounters can a person absorb? In June, my heart burst and the shreds tied in knots. I told Spence, “I’m going to break my rule about avoiding politics and write about racial injustice for my blog,”
“You’ll sound like a white liberal,” he said.
He had a point, but I wouldn’t go along, stay silent, and hide anymore. I wrote a personal tale of relearning why BLACK LIVES MATTER couldn’t be all lives matter, and emailed it to my friend Darlene. “I'm hoping you have time to check this story. I want you to be comfortable with the parts I included about you and your family.”
The phone rang, Darlene’s voice came through the line. “Your story made me cry.”
I gulped. “Was it that awful?”
“No.” Her voice bubbled with excitement. “It was beautiful. Publish it. People should read it.”
“In the story I called you Black. I don’t think of you that way. I think of you as Darlene.” I stared through the sliding glass door at two deer grazing below the south garden. “What’s your preference? Bi-racial? African American?”
Her voice turned serious. “I think of myself as American, but your story works better calling me Black. Use Black.”
For an hour and a half, we delved deeper into racial experiences including the private classification she and her husband had for each other.
“Clyde and I used to joke that he was dark chocolate and I was white chocolate.” She chuckled. “But we were both chocolate.”
Goodbye Black life murders
Cherish soul to soul talks
Goodbye 2020
An oak log spit sparks in the fire box. Twenty-twenty stepped onto the porch.
Late summer, Deer Creek turned neon green. Scientists investigated, tests found toxins, and thunderstorms washed the algal bloom away.
On his fifth and last visit, Dan, a scientist from DEP, reached through his open truck window to stuff gloves and sample bottles into a plastic bag. “How was your holiday weekend?”
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| Green Water Downstream from Bridge at Lower and Bortz |
Behind a mask, my face muscles formed a grin. This tall, young scientist and I had bonded over the green water mystery. “Spence and I picked apples, and I made applesauce.” I paused, recalling how our Pittsburgh relatives helped with the last Wolf River apple harvest—picking, cooking, and eating. “How did you celebrate?”
“My wife and I paddled our kayak at Presque Isle. We stayed in the lagoons. A boat parade for Trump made the bay too choppy.”
Dan and I walked through the woods to Deer Creek. He knelt and rinsed a sample bottle.
“Did your investigation of Bower’s drained pond turn up any evidence?”
Dan let clear creek water flow into the bottle. “The time, place, and circumstance all point to the source of the algal bloom.”
“So what happens next?”
He capped the sample. “I turned the case over to another department. After all the hours I put on this, they’ll follow up.”
Goodbye toxic water
Cherish scientists’ work
Goodbye 2020
Logs hissed and air whooshed up the chimney. Twenty-twenty opened the car door.
Opening mail-in ballots became an issue in Pennsylvania. Because of the pandemic, I’d requested mail-in ballots in July, received them October 13, and—not even waiting for Spence to fill his out—drove mine to the Carlton post office early the next morning.
I panted and stuck the envelope under the Plexiglas shield. “Will it get there in time?”
Stacey examined the address. “It’ll get there in plenty of time.”
The ballot sat in a bin at the Mercer County election office with Spence’s—he mailed his the afternoon of October 14—for over three weeks. Our county chose not to open mail-in ballots until the day after the election.
Trump tweeted “STOP THE COUNT” and Mike Kelly, our Republican Congressman filed a lawsuit to invalidate all of Pennsylvania’s mail-in ballots.
“I’m a registered voter,” I shouted at the NPR news stream. “My vote should count.”
Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday brought flurries of tweets and lawsuits. Pennsylvania’s vote tallies rose. Our divided nation still didn’t have a president-elect.
Saturday was my cousin Julie’s birthday. As youngsters, we’d received indoctrination from Aunt Marge to vote for liberals instead of conservatives like our parents.
After two deer stopped to stare at us during our walk that Saturday, Spence and I ambled home so he could read the latest headlines on his computer. “Biden won. Pennsylvania’s electoral votes put him over two hundred seventy.”
I emailed Julie.
I was hoping Pennsylvania would go for Biden as a birthday present for you! Aunt Marge would be pleased.
Ah thank you. I was going to email you today but the excitement of the election has interfered with my to-do list. lol This will be a memorable birthday for sure!
But I sympathized with Republican neighbors. When Hillary lost four years ago, I despaired of ever seeing a woman president. I dragged around the house until finding consolation in Trump’s promises to help DACA recipients and rebuild infrastructure. Maybe disappointed voters could find consolation in some of Biden’s promises.
Goodbye alternative facts
Cherish everyone’s vote
Goodbye 2020
Ashes dusted glowing logs.Twenty-twenty sat in the driver’s seat and rolled down the window.
The week before Christmas, news broadcasts repeated warnings from Dr. Fauci. “Don’t travel. Stay home.”
Instead of thirteen Wellses crowding into the great room, we had three.
Spence’s brother Bruce posted a YouTube video of our nieces waving and calling, “Merry Christmas, Uncle Spence and Aunt Janet.”
Bruce’s wife Cindy emailed pictures of wearing the picking apron I’d made from her late mother’s fabric stash.
My nephew Robert texted.
Merry Christmas, Aunt Janet. Hopefully, I’ll see you before 2022!!!!! And hopefully, you found a little time to bake that blueberry rhubarb pie.
Had I discussed pie recipes on our last Florida trip, two weeks before the Corona virus shutdown?
Extra messages came from my sister, brother, cousins, second cousins, and aunt—all heeding doctors’ and scientists’ admonitions.
Our daughter Ellen mailed a box of presents with a note on top. “I’m sorry the pandemic makes visiting difficult. To make things more entertaining, I arranged your presents with a theme. Guess your theme.” She gave each of us a half dozen to open.
We guessed Spence’s theme on his first present—a gift certificate to Baker’s Creek Heirloom Seeds. Gardening.
The Farmer’s Wife 1930s Sampler Quilt defined quilting for me.
When Charlie opened a pizza cookbook, the three of us shouted, “Cooking.” Next he opened a DVD for the movie Spider-man Far From Home. This stumped Spence and me, but Charlie said, “Italy. The movie was shot in Italy.”
During the afternoon ZOOM get-together, we reported our guesses.
Ellen shook her ponytail. “Italian vacation. The last time I talked to my brother, he said he needed a vacation.”
With the pandemic surging, Charlie’s job at UPS exhausted him. Like all essential workers this year, he did need a vacation.
Goodbye COVID Christmas
Cherish family ties
Goodbye 2020
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| 2020 Ornament |
Specks of charred logs mixed in the gray ashes that blanketed the bottom of the silent wood stove. Twenty-twenty turned the ignition key, and I shouted, “Take your horrid audits, endless closings, Black life murders, toxic water, alternative facts, and COVID Christmas with you.”
Good riddance Don’t come back
Goodbye 2020
And watch out for the deer
BLOG REFERENCES
Horrid Audits
“Strained and Off Balance” February 23, 2020
“Misleading Ledger” (Part One) November 1, 2020
“Misleading Ledger” (Part Two) November 29, 2020
Black Life Murders
“Lessons Relearned” June 14, 2020
Toxic Water
“Mystery in Neon Green” (Part One) September 6, 2020
“Mystery in Neon Green” (Part Two) September 20, 2020
Apple Picking
“Addy’s Big Adventure” (Part One) September 7, 2018
“Addy’s Big Adventure” (Part Two) September 17, 2018
2020 Family Get-Togethers
“Dancing in Your Head” May 31, 2020
"Piano Sisters” August 23, 2020
