Julian Emerson
Daily walks through my neighborhood have been especially lonely for the past six weeks.
I often begin my days with early morning strolls navigating the crosshatch grid of streets that surround my home in Eau Claire’s East Side Hill neighborhood. As I traverse sidewalks in the pre-dawn shadows before the sun peeks above the eastern horizon, I appreciate the still-sleeping world, the quiet around me, interrupted only by the sound of my footsteps on pavement.
However, in recent weeks that solitude I used to appreciate before my day explodes in a haze of phone calls, text messages, deadlines and other tasks too many to pack into the time allotted has become disquieting, thanks to the coronavirus pandemic.
These days, I am surrounded by the sound of silence.
Our new, uncertain lives in this time of COVID-19 are teaching us many lessons the hard way. Chief among them is the value of human interaction. Gatherings of all sorts -- from family birthday celebrations, to graduations, to meeting another couple for dinner at a restaurant, to grabbing a cup of coffee with a friend -- have disappeared. Even chance meetings are rare as we seclude ourselves in our homes, fearful of catching or spreading the dreaded virus.
My walks used to include periodic greetings, mostly with neighborhood friends I know, sometimes with strangers. I took them too much for granted before, accepted that they were just a part of my day. Now I miss those simple “hellos,” affirmations of friendliness, that I matter in some sense, or at least am acknowledged.
In fact, I miss all of my previous socialization, meaningful conversations, laughs and hugs and smiles. I even miss the tougher talks, those times when people challenged me, or pointed out some facet of my life that needed improvement.
For an extrovert like me, someone fueled by human interaction, this quiet time feels like a prison sentence.
The sky was blue-gray when I began a recent walk, passing familiar bungalows, yards, and trees as I inhaled the air fresh with the scent of spring. I had struggled emotionally the past few days, my heart heavy, but I felt my spirits begin to lift as the sky brightened. The chorus of birds in trees overhead signaled the promise of a new day, a sign that our silent winter was at an end, that a new, brighter time is ahead.
A moment later an eagle soared above, floating effortlessly, majestically, before alighting atop a nearby pine tree. I stopped, appreciating the moment, a time to cast aside troubles and simply enjoy being alive.
I continued along my way, and a short time later unexpectedly encountered a friend hanging a Happy Birthday sign in the yard of a friend of hers. The sign was for her friend’s son. COVID-19 meant the youngster couldn’t host a traditional birthday party. But he would have at least one birthday wish. He appreciated it, based on his big smile as he looked out the window.
A short time later my walk took me to one of my favorite neighborhood spots, a hillside perch that offers an expansive view of downtown Eau Claire and beyond, a place I sometimes visit just to think.
The building I entered countless times during my many years working for the Leader-Telegram newspaper lay below, along with churches, restaurants, coffee houses and other sites that have become so much a part of my past. A short ways off the Chippewa River flowed, mist rising above it, and then UW-Eau Claire. Other buildings dotted the landscape as my eyes looked further south, west, and north, many built decades ago and some more recently.
My gaze revealed the streets are still quieter than normal, the number of vehicles on them less than what it used to be. Sidewalks are still nearly void of pedestrians too. Restaurants and other shops are still mostly shuttered as a government-issued stay-at-home order remains in effect to prevent the spread of COVID-19.
But there is hope here. The snow has melted, replaced by a bright-green world. Nearby trees and bushes left naked during winter are sprouting buds and leaves. A pair of robins hops across the grass, chittering cheerily as if carrying on a breakfast conversation. A passing bicyclist waves.
Much as the birds sing, we too will regain our voices and greet each other again one day. Like the flowing river, we will move forward, overcoming obstacles in our way. We will meet together again, more grateful for our friendships and for our community.
Julian Emerson is a journalist based in Eau Claire.