The challenge is before us, even if we do live in the relative safety of Platte County. How do we stay close with friends and neighbors when we’re urged to stay physically apart? The COVID-19 coronavirus is darkening our thoughts and changing our daily paths.
The 1993 flood was easier to fight. We could hear the rain and see the water. People rallied to sandbag lines. Helping hands reached out to others. Those living in the river valleys gritted their teeth and moved forward. But after the flood’s headlines died, many flood victims still suffered.
My hope is that in a few months we’re all relieved that COVID-19 didn’t match the warnings in our communities. Those warnings are dire yet deserved. They are siren sounds we are not used to hearing. And I worry that beyond these early days a challenging weariness will arrive.
We feel so secure about so many things in Platte County. Fear of foreign invasion, no not much, we’re protected on all sides by geography. I’m old enough to be of the generation that, during our grade school years, we watched films teaching us how to assume defensive positions under our desks if sirens sounded warning of incoming nuclear missiles. Now, we figure we’ve got the defensive capability to shoot those down over the oceans, and our foes have economic reasons not to fire them.
The Missouri River and various underground aquifers mean that unlike much of the world we’re unlikely to run short of water. We live amid a food producing agriculture belt.
But now comes an enemy so tiny we cannot see it without a powerful microscope. One that is capable of floating in the air or lingering to the touch.
There is a worry in the air that I’ve not felt in this county since the days immediately following the 9/11 terrorist attacks. We were horrified by the aftermath and life loss, but in those first days after, so much of what seemed so senseless was a mystery to us, and that was also scary.
Both the known and the unknown of dangers are alarming. But the latter is the least trusted because the imagination can run wild.
If we get hit hard by COVID-19, and I pray we don’t, we’ll have to take care of one another to make it through. Somehow we have to find ways to making caring and social distance both work.
Thus far, I’ve been both alarmed and reassured. It was alarming to see the toilet paper shelves temporarily bare at my Platte City grocery store. I’m well stocked with paper. But the fear of the unknown that a bare shelf signifies is unsettling. However, on the reassuring side, people remained polite even in the crowded store aisles. “Excuse me” was often heard as people pushed carts around corners and avoided collisions. There were long lines at checkout registers, but people were patient because they knew why so many were in line. Fatigued grocery clerks were still able to smile.
I hope such patience remains if days of uncertainty turn to months.
Some of us have family and friends who fall into the highly vulnerable category due to age or underlying health issues. As this week started, people were still finding wry humor in the situation. But the worry grows.
Nerves are on edge among small business owners. This can be a bitter blow for them. Support your local businesses the best you can. Our thoughts also turn to the people who work at jobs in various service industries, who could be looking at few hours logged or no job.
The importance of science in our lives looms so big this spring, but just as important will be how we take care of one another. Keeping our distance without becoming lonely may be our biggest challenge.