THE OTHER SIDE OF SUMMER Julia Hirsch

Anglo-Eesti Ühing arendab tegevust. 1935. Postimees, 296, 30 October. Anglo-Eesti ühing asutatud (1931). Üliõpilasleht, 1, 16. Anglo-Eesti Ühingu hoogus pidu. 1935. Postimees, 326, 29 November. Baltoskandia riikide eluküsimuseks on Balti mere vabadus. 1937. Postimees, 77, 19 March. Briti diplomaatliku esindaja suur huvi üliõpilaselu vastu. 1938. Postimees, 118, 2 May. Briti toetus Anglo-Eesti Ühingule. Postimees, 157, 13 June. Briti valitsuse kink Anglo-Eesti Ühingule. 1934. Postimees, 299, 1 November. EAA – National Archives of Estonia. Eestis korraldatakse inglise raamatunäitus. 1938. Postimees, 90, 1 April. Horm, Arvo. 1938. Meie majandusteaduslikust orientatsioonist. Postimees, 307, 12 November. Huviküllane õhtu Anglo-Eesti Ühingus. 1934. Postimees, 306, 8 January. Inglise keele tähtsusest majandusteadlastele. 1937. Postimees, 272, 8 October. Inglise muusika õhtu. 1936. Postimees, 308, 14 November. Koosviibimine Inglise kuninga kroonimise puhul. 1937. Postimees, 125, 10 May. Korterisisustust Inglismaalt. Postimees, 266, 2 October. Kuulus Inglise admiral tuleb Tartu. 1937. Postimees, 88, 2 April. Lange, Anne. 2004. Ants Oras. Tartu: Ilmamaa. Mag. J. Silvet rääkis sõnaraamatu koostamisest. 1937. Postimees, 217, 7 October. Mälestati Ameerika vabadusvõitlejat. 1932. Postimees, 277, 25 November. Neli stipendiumit õpetajatele Inglismaal. 1940. Postimees, 5, 6 January. Oja, Eduard. 1937. Eesti ja Inglise muusikaõhtu. Postimees, 300, 5 November. Oras, Ants. 2002. Eesti saatuslikud aastad 1939–1944. Tallinn: Olion. Prantsuse Instituut suletud 20. augustini. 1938. Postimees, 170, 27 June. “Romeo ja Julia” ning “Old Black Joe”. 1934. Postimees, 317, 19 November. Sepp, Hendrik. 1937. Juba minevikus ostis Inglismaa meilt rohkem kui müüs. Postimees, 101, 15 April. Uus professuur Tartu Ülikooli. 1939. Postimees, 183, 12. July. Williams-Thompson, Richard. 1940. 4 milj. elamut 20 aastaga. Postimees, 46, 17 February.

Julia Hirsch

New Paltz, New York

The leaves were light green then, and the daffodils were just beginning to bloom, but now the leaves are turning, and the local apple orchards are welcoming visitors to pick the new crop. It’s been six months since I settled into my house in New Paltz, determined to wait out Covid-19 far from Manhattan where everyone agreed that subways, buses, museums, restaurants, concert halls and the crowds were breeders of infection. Summer is on the wane, but the virus hasn’t subsided. Life is different and I’m still getting used to the changes.

As a retired person with few family responsibilities, I used to navigate with a great sense of freedom and the awareness that I always had many choices – to go to this grocery store or that one, to go to the library or browse in a bookstore, to meet a friend for lunch or stay home, go to the Opera or read a book – has become very circumscribed. Many of the places I liked to go to are closed or require long waits for admittance, as numbers within are limited. Even a walk along a country lane has its strict rules. One must stay a distance from others and wear a mask which often constrains breathing and blots out the tangy scents of late summer. The virus has also limited relationships. Handshakes and hugs are out of the

question. After many months of avoiding proximity, my daughter (with whom I don’t share a home) and I finally decided to hug each other. We do so with a sense of danger. But we’re also pleased we’ve given ourselves permission to be deviant. Fancy that! A mother and daughter giving each other a hug. That in a way sums up the entire story. The virus is perverse, evasive, unpredictable – and in defying the rules we’re taking a chance with our health.

The virus shapes my daily life in countless other ways. Starting mid-March and until three weeks ago I ordered my groceries online from a local supermarket. I’d spend at least an hour trying to find what I wanted on a set of colorful screens which often did not include the particular items I wanted. I learned to settle. That didn’t bother me, I’m not fussy. But what I did resent was having to spend a lot of time cleaning what I received with disinfectant before putting my cans, bottles, jars, and fresh produce in my pantry or fridge. That’s what we’re advised to do, to be safe, and I want that, for sure. So I continue to wipe.

To vary the experience of providing for daily needs, I sometimes walked a couple of miles to a speciality store that sells organic fruits and vegetables. I enjoyed the walk – often meeting a family of geese and their goslings that occupied the grounds of a long-abandoned diner – but getting home was much harder. I’d wait for up to thirty minutes to get a cab – driven by a masked driver – home, and when the hot weather settled in, I no longer could tolerate the wait for half an hour in 37 degrees Celsius. Reluctantly I decided to lease a car. I can now get to the supermarket within ten minutes. A limited number of customers are allowed in the store. We are required to wear masks, though some people seem to think their purpose is to cover their necks, not their mouths and noses. We wait at the checkout at a “safe” distance – deemed here to be about two meters – and generally we do not make eye contact. “Did you find everything you needed?” the cashier asks, with a breeziness that suggests she’s reading an invisible script written in easier times. “Sure,” I say, knowing that she isn’t responsible for the many empty shelves in the store. Paper goods and household cleaners are in short supply. Certain cereals seem to have disappeared. Their absence is replaced by extensive displays of the same cereal, a visual tease that, for a moment, obscures the reality of the situation. On some days there are no dried beans. On other days there seem to be fewer choices of coffee. Fresh fruits and vegetables are quite abundant but, on some days, I can’t find any lettuce, and yesterday I couldn’t find any broccoli or string beans. Last week I tried to find some printer paper for my computer. The local print shop, which also sells stationary, was almost out of it: I could only buy a single package. I ordered more from a large chain store some thirty miles away. I was promised delivery within two days. When five passed, I was informed that my order “was sent back to the warehouse.” When I asked why that had happened, I was told, there was a problem “in the supply chain”, and I wasn’t going to get any paper at all.

Such shortages are by no means life-threatening but in a country that has been known for its abundance this is a novelty. I vaguely remember the petrol shortage in the 1970’s, and occasional warnings about tainted lettuce (one as recent as a few months ago), but these shortages are more extensive and seem to have become a part of daily life.

The world of consumer goods has undergone some other changes. A number of large – and old – stores have declared bankruptcy, among them such prestigious ones as Brooks Brothers and Lord and Taylor. A number of restaurant chains have gone out of business as well. The world of online sales seems to be thriving. One can now buy food from Amazon – though at a price. I haven’t tried that yet.

The decline in commerce – the closing of what has been called “brick and mortar” stores and restaurants which actually started a while back – and the suspension of actual, physical attendance at all levels of the educational and corporate worlds has had a huge effect on yet another market, namely that of clothes. Entire columns in newspapers and magazines address the question of what to wear when one’s workplace is the kitchen or the bedroom. A recent and very humorous article by

Patricia Marks in the New Yorker describes at length the new trend of wearing pajama pants while working online. One can wear traditional business attire above the waist but below the belt one can wear something loose, baggy and informal. Some writers have also commented that the absence of “dressing up” can be demoralizing, and recommend that one should “smarten up”, even if the results can’t be seen by fellow Zoomers.

While I haven’t taken to wearing pyjama pants while Zooming, I Zoom a few hours a week. This is how I stay connected to the volunteer organization I work with and wrote about a few OPENs ago, and also how I participate in a variety of book groups. Once a week I meet with friends in a Google Hangout, and a few months ago I enjoyed a large gathering with family living across the country. While I appreciate the technology, it seems to strip us of warmth, and spontaneity. Sometimes, however, something unexpected happens, such as the sudden appearance of a pet crossing the screen, or the cry of a baby in another room. The sounds of fire engines and ambulances can also be carried across the electronic waves, and it’s funny to suddenly be thrust into the ordinary sounds of a distant city.

Last week I went to New York City for two days. Many shops are still closed or have limited hours. Quite a few are gone, their windows entirely empty of merchandise and large signs posted inside reading, “For rent.” Streets are congested in a new way. There are far more bicycles on the move. Some keep to designated bicycle paths while others weave in and out among parked cars, moving vehicles and pedestrians. Restaurants are now allowed to create outdoor accommodations on the sidewalks and even in the street where cars used to park. These accommodations are often as large as twelve meters long and almost as deep allowing for a number of tables and chairs placed about two meters from each other. Simple wooden planks or wire fencing barriers shield patrons from traffic. Some of these protective devices are topped with flower boxes or draped with plastic trellises, in an attempt to mask the proximity of cars, trucks and bicycles. With luck one can imagine oneself at a sidewalk cafe somewhere in Europe, at worst one is reminded that we’re in Covid and everyone is trying their best to overcome the limitations imposed by the pandemic.

Spirits have been lifted in other ways. Bread baking has become quite the rage, a homey pursuit rendered easier when the baker is also working from home and has time to check on the rising dough. Cooking, especially dishes that take some time to prepare, has grown in popularity. A friend who volunteers at Bide-a-wee, a large and particularly humane animal shelter, reports a constant scarcity of pets to adopt. Plant nurseries are short of garden soil and some other common horticultural products. Time has acquired a different structure. One has both too much and too little of it.

Looking back at what I wrote last spring as the pandemic got started, I find some continuities and some changes. The sight of a masked face has become the “new normal.” I find myself more suspicious of someone not wearing one, or wearing it around their necks, than I do a person whose face I can barely see at all. Smiles have disappeared. Individual facial expression is obscured. I sometimes try to make eye contact but it’s not the same as a smile and I often fail to get a response. There is certain caution, a suspiciousness, in the air which makes it hard to connect. I continue to find it hard to focus, as an underlying anxiety gnaws away at my concentration. (I’ve taken to listening to Audible Books while I walk.) I’ve been doing some gardening, though hardly enough to cause a shortage, and one of my great joys this season has been the bounty of a tomato plant which I planted in a bucket. I spend much more time at my computer than I used to as it has become a shopping center, a social hub, a concert hall, and a gym. I spend more time on the phone talking to close friends and family. I’ve grown indifferent to what I wear. My hair has grown unruly, and I pin it up which makes me look a bit more old-fashioned than I am. A hairdresser in town has offered limited access to her skills but I don’t want to take a chance: safety, for me, takes precedence over vanity.

The streets of New Paltz are busier now. There is far more car traffic and many more pedestrians as the college has reopened and students – some observing the necessary protections against Covid-19