By Margaret Evans, Editor

I never thought I’d say it, but I miss the early days of coronavirus. Those halcyon days of yore – a couple of months ago – when we were all intensely focused on “flattening the curve.” We had a clear purpose back then. A goal. A mission. We were united in that mission – as a community, a country, a world! – and it felt good. 

By Margaret Evans, Editor

There’s a lot of painting going on in our neighborhood these days. People painting their houses, I mean. 

            A brown-stained “log cabin” down the street has just been transformed into a cream-colored lodge with pale turquoise doors and window frames. Meanwhile, the rusty red cottage next door – a work in progress – is slowly going periwinkle. 

By Margaret Evans, Editor

Early in the springtime of 2020, the birds abandoned me. Just when I needed them most, they simply disappeared from my world.

   It was weird. We’d managed to get our daughter home from Central Europe – that drama had passed – and the days were growing long and lovely. We had plenty of time now to sit outside together, and I was desperate to watch some birds. But suddenly there were no birds to watch.

   I couldn’t figure it out. My feeders were clean, full of seed and suet. I’d added a birdbath to my set-up, which somebody'd said was a ‘must’ if I hoped to attract buntings of any kind. (The Painted Bunting has long been my holy grail, but I’m eager for Indigos, too.) On top of all that, it was spring!