Akiwowo, 4-part

If you find one of me scary, this ought to terrify you - it kind of scares me. This is Akiwowo, the four-part corona-virus-stuck-at-home-alone-learning-new-stuff version. I've spent the better part of three days on this - totally engrossed to the point of forgetting to eat, and even forgetting more than once that 5:00 had come and gone without even thinking about my first beer. The lighting, the camera settings - testing, testing - back and forth between studio and computer; working out the music and the multiple takes on each thing; taking the video editing app to places I had never been before; editing the clips, syncing the clips (and even still, parts of it are not 100%), arranging the clips. It made sitting in my bedroom (in the same upstairs of this same house) as a teenager with my little reel-to-reel and spending hours figuring out how to record myself singing, then playing it back and with a second recorder recording myself singing harmony to the first recording seem very easy in retrospect.

Life Continues to Spring Forth As If Nothing Strange Is Happening

It turns out that I don't have to leave my property to find photo opps. Here's what's happening in my yard right now.



Daffy down dilly has come to town with a yellow petticoat and a green gown.

My yard is dotted with little white violets, like stars and constellations in a green sky. My mother always loved these little violets (how can a violet be white, anyway?) and we were never allowed to mow the lawn until they were finished blooming, sometime around or after Easter (coming right up).



Siberian squill; volunteers

Sedum (Autumn Joy)

My one and only lupine. I wish I had a field full of them, a la Miss Rumphius.

Last year's Easter lily

Narcissus

More "violets" 

Japanese quince



Some type of ground cover, given to me by my neighbor Sande. It blooms with red spiky flowers later in the summer. I do not know its name.

Corona Daze

Yes, daze, as in "We are all in a daze because of the corona virus and have no idea what day it is anymore or even if it's day or night;" and corona, as in "On Tuesday the sun came out."

Three of my grandchildren live only a few blocks away, and even though we aren't going into each other's homes right now, we thought it would be fine for them to come and play in my yard - the yard they love so well - and I love having them here. We kept our distance while they (Ethan and Zeke; Orion did not come this time) dug in the dirt, made mud, and swung on the swings, and I worked in the garden.

Zeke asked if he could come over every day. I said, "Sure, we'll call it recess," since they are doing their school work at home. I asked them how they like doing schoolwork at home and Ethan told me it was "Kind of weird because school is for work and home is for play." Good point. I took the opportunity, as I love to do, to tell them about life in the olden days when we wore our best clothes to school - dresses for girls (well, umm...except for this tomboy who managed to get away with pants her entire grammar school career, but they were clean) and slacks and button down shirts for boys, and shiny shoes - no sneakers - and when we came home, we immediately changed into our play clothes. Our garb was a clear signal as to whether we were in school mode or play mode.



Ethan and Zeke-a-diggin' in the dirt; dig, diggidy-digga-digga...





Oh, water boy, bring your buck-buck-bucket here...







You can't see them, but the tiny little noses of the pea plants have begun to poke through the dirt.

Lettuce, arugula, and Swiss chard are planted.

There's something so therapeutic about smoothing a mound of dirt with a rake, isn't there? I remember a few years back you could buy a small desk-top box with sand and a small rake for the office for relaxation purposes. It's elemental, really, and the reason, I'm sure, that we love the beach. 

A few of this year's garden treasures (so far).

Siberian squill

 My mother's Japanese quince 

Okay, Grandma - we're going home now. This path has been traversed by my family, going back to my grandmother, for approximately ninety years. The beat goes on.



The view from my front porch these days: not a soul to be seen. It was almost warm enough for fiddle tunes but I didn't last too long because of the chilly wind. 

The Digging Song (Ethan and Zeke a-Diggin' in the Dirt, ©Sara Piazza)

My Little Town, Early Morning

On Monday morning I finally managed to get out early enough to be the first one into (and out of) Stop&Shop for Geezer Hour, and this is what I saw when I returned home, around 6:30am.

Gray and Gloomy

Monday afternoon March 30 was another gray and gloomy day - gloomy as in weather and mood - and even though it was chilly and not very inviting, I forced myself out of the house in the late afternoon. I did not venture far, well, some people would say that a walk down Plantingfield Way, into and through Sheriff's Meadow sanctuary to Eel Pond, over to North Water Street, along the harbor, and back home up Main Street, is a good hike. Not feeling very inspired, I brought the little Lumix along anyway.

Not only was my mood down in the dumps yesterday - and a long string of gray, chilly March days on the Vineyard can do that to you even in the best of circumstances - but the collective mood is being challenged at the moment, especially with the announcement yesterday that our isolation and disruption from normal activities will continue until April 30th.

We did have a reprieve from the March gray a few days ago, which I took advantage of with a little fiddling on the porch (partly in response to a request I received: "Sara, we could use a little fiddle music from your porch right about now."). Passersby are normally receptive to coming across someone sitting on a porch playing fiddle tunes, but the people who happened by the other day were especially happy to hear the music and have an opportunity to socialize (safely, as my seat on the porch is a good ten feet away from the folks on the sidewalk - far enough not to pass germs, but close enough to converse). I look forward to more of this as the weather warms up, especially since our confinement will be prolonged.

I am staying busy with yard work and house work - I may end up dead as a result of the pandemic, but at least my home and my yard will be tidy - plus working on some of the minutiae I ordinarily wouldn't have time for (adding a bow-holder to the fiddle and bouzouki stand I designed last year - it's taken a whole year of using the thing; staring at it and thinking about it to come up with a simple design for the bow holder - and it's perfect), plus spending a bit more time on this long-neglected blog; plus making videos for my Music with Sara family music program, plus organizing and working with fifty years' worth of photos; also applying myself to various fields that interest me: cameras and processing techniques, drumming, Irish music, Gregorian chant - and yes, there's no end to the number of instruments I have on hand on which I could focus and improve.

It all sounds good, but without context - friends and outside activities - it's all a bit dry and uninspired at the moment - bordering on depression - which is why my front porch will become increasingly important in the coming weeks.

A couple of live daily Masses I follow are also helpful - Bishop Barron's Word on Fire, which connects me to thousands of other Catholics world-wide and offers inspiring messages is a good one. Today's message: "We are all on our way to the cross right now." To which I say, this is certainly a Lent of all Lents. Also,  St. Paul's Harvard Square, which connects me with my off-island Catholic home-away-from-home.

So, back to Monday afternoon: The photos are not all that earth-shaking or different than others I have taken in my neighborhood, but I am trying, as well as continuing to test (and enjoy) the little Lumix.   


I've always liked the rose of Sharon seed pod, and the little Lumix's macro setting worked well here (that is not always the case, to my continuing annoyance). 



A brief take-out-window visit with some of my family. We can still meet up for walks or bike rides, but we are all missing being in each other's homes. 

The Grannis house

Butler Mud Hole, with Eel Pond on the other side of the beach and Nantucket Sound in the distance.  

A long path to...(normalcy?)

Approaching Eel Pond

The wind was strong and cold at the Eel Pond landing, straight in from the northeast.

Nature's handiwork

A bit of sunshine

Forsythia, "spilling into a pool of daffodils." (from one of my mother's poems)

When the lanterns on North Water Street turn on, around twilight, the street is transformed into a magical 19th-century theme park, although not quite authentic, as I've been told that 150 years ago, during the whaling heydays when these houses were occupied year 'round by whaling families, the streets were paved with scallop shells, laundry hung on the clothes lines, children ran in the streets, and the homes were likely not quite as pristine and perfect (museum-like?) as they are now.



Memorial Wharf

(above) It's hard to imagine that this harbor will ever be wall-to-wall boats again.(below) Now is the safest time - ever - to bicycle through Edgartown.

Polly Hill Divertissement

Let's face it, everything is a diversion at this point; a distraction from the grim reality that has plagued our world at this time. A walk around Polly Hill Arboretum was my second such distraction and time-filler for today. I really can't complain because some people are being held captive in far less beautiful environments. Since this is the third blog post for today I'll let the photos speak for themselves. Tomorrow we will be one day closer to normal.















This flower is called Lenten Rose - perfect, since it blooms during Lent and it's the same color as the priest's vestments on Laetare Sunday (fourth Sunday in Lent).