It’s been five months since any Country Roads column has been written and I’ve missed the bi-weekly walk with you. My reasons for not writing seemed important back in October, but that was during the threatening fires, drought, and uncertainty if Sonoma County would still be in existence once rains returned to dampen down and finish off the fires.
Now, those concerns seem strangely remote, still potentially destructive, but yet “old history.” Today, as we look outside, taking solitary walks in our neighborhoods or working in our gardens with our house-bound families, we see green grass, spring flowers, blossoming trees, buzzing bees. There is no threat from smoke and no flames on the ridges racing up the slopes, blackening evergreens and underbrush.
Yet, today we are concerned and fearful of the air we breathe and the approach of friends, as well as strangers. It’s a different kind of anxiety, more sinister because it is hidden. And, this time, a simple rain is not going to end the destruction. Many health experts believe there will only be a definitive end to the current coronavirus when a vaccine has been created and distributed. This will take time.
Meantime, our lives must go on as normally as possible, and it is a comfort to me to be sharing with you, even making you chuckle a little, at least shaking your head, at happenings which I have encountered. Chuckling is always good medicine, as long as you haven’t broken a rib.
Right away, I have to tell you about a hospital. The news is all about them lately, but this story took place November in Portland. My oldest son, Joel, had to have surgery and it was serious. Every mother would want to be there for it and I wasn’t any different. So, for four days I stayed with Portland family during evenings and with Laurie (Joel’s wife) in the ICU all day with Joel during recovery.
We knew the second floor by heart after four days. It contained the cafeteria, which was our only outlet. On the fifth day, Joel was transferred to a regular room on the sixth floor. And on the sixth day, he was scheduled to go home and we were waiting for the release papers.
“I’ll go down to the cafeteria and get us some muffins and coffee,” I suggested, to Joel and Laurie.
“Great idea!” Laurie answered.
Directly across from Joel’s room a sign on a door read “Stairwell.”
Hmmmmmm. I have been sitting for four days and I could take the elevator down to the cafeteria on the second floor, but, here is an opportunity to walk down the stairs and get some exercise. What a good idea!
I pulled open the door and stepped to the other side. I heard the door shut behind me and immediately I had a bad feeling. The stairwell felt as inviting as a stairwell in a parking garage. It echoed. It smelled of old pipes and cement. I proceeded down one floor and saw a sign on the door designating the fifth floor. It read, “insert card to exit.”
A feeling of panic ensued as I tried to open the door and it would not budge. I continued down the floors and each door had the same sign, except one, which read, “ROOF.”
I breathed a little easier, thinking that I might be able to return to that door, go out on the roof, and yell to folks outside on the ground.
Down the floors I went, trying each door, to no avail, until, miraculously, the second floor door opened, surprising me so much that I nearly tumbled. Elated, I rushed into what was not a hospital hall but an office mezzanine. There were two ladies behind glass windows and I hurried over to them.
“Oh, I am so glad to see you. I have been caught in the stairwell! I thought I was never going to get out again!”
They seemed shocked to see me, listened intently to my story, and understood my panic. They took care to guide me to another hall, with an elevator that would bring me to the cafeteria and safety.
As I relate this whole experience to you, I can clearly recall the panic that filled me as I began to think I would not escape from that stairwell. At the same time, I also will always be grateful to the women who unexpectedly appeared, calming and redirecting me.
The message was then and still is: we all need each other and there will be opportunities throughout our lives to assist one another in ways we cannot anticipate. Doors lock. Doors open. We need to be ready for both.
Renee Kiff weeds and writes at her family farm in Alexander Valley.
