Coming to terms in Nova Scotia
Trying to call an end to the pandemic in our newly adopted province.
The first time I called the end to the pandemic was late May: 2020, not 2021. I was on the phone with a friend who was planning to visit over the Canada Day holiday, and recall assuring him this would all be over soon. Unfortunately he believed me, booked his flight and had to cancel once it became clear how unclear travel had become. There were Canadians “stuck” in all parts of the world, relying on the government to charter them home – endless honeymoons and perpetual cruises until the nearest extraction point.
My, my, how had I become the optimist? Nothing cleared up and travel plans faded from memory. Stranded people returned, chastised but relieved to be home. But as cases dropped and summer grew into autumn, merrier families took their places and shipped off on well-earned vacations. The accordion snapped back with even more stringent clamps and some wayward explorers, lost from cellular reach, were caught once more on islands of no return.
Rolling my eyes, secretly hoping it was me out there with the best excuse for not showing up at work, I called again the end to this pandora’s box. This time it had dealt its hand. A short road trip and night away from home in Antigonish, on the northern shore of Nova Scotia, was our first stop in our newly adopted province. A picture of the Hindu god Ganesha greeted us in the lobby of the Victorian B&B, offering us a stop sign, an open palm and blessings all at once.
On our way home we drove along the Northumberland Strait, separating us from Prince Edward Island, through pinpricks on the map like Malignant Cove. At a frozen dock we found ice bergs shoved against each other like the uncovered layers of earth’s burst seam. Folded waves were caught mid-flight, their froth shimmering. Seal carcasses of souvenir quality, the life still almost in their eyes, bulged along the slick beach.
This really was it, we thought on returning home in early 2021. Soon it would be summer and the end to seeing disembodied eyes floating around the grocery store. But next came Nova Scotia’s first serious wave of the pandemic: it crested, everyone puckered up. Not long after, it eased and everyone could breathe again.
Seasonal thoughts of gathering felt more like echoes the second autumn but somehow friends from Toronto agreed to fly out and stay with us over Christmas. This turned out to be just the motivation for us to finish painting and patching our guest room – finally, someone besides us and the never-impressed cat would see our handiwork. The countdown to their arrival brought a forgotten excitement, a semblance of reality to our Groundhog Day.
Murphy’s Law threatened the day before their arrival: following my work colleague contracting the virus, we had to find a self-test kit and swab our brainstems. Despite what I had heard, there is nothing remotely coming-of-age about shoving a Q-tip up your nose. No, I didn’t feel I was “doing my part” – this was an irritating inconvenience to be got through, nothing more, was the only other thing in my head. The only relief was a negative and our guests’ nonchalance at explanations about what had happened.
Their visit included a visit to Peggy’s Cove, a must-stop on any trip here, featuring 100km/h winds that almost tore us off the lighthouse rock. Christmas was hours of making Russian salads, unwrapping gifts and the surprisingly popular Cards Against Humanity – what better way for four foreigners to learn about Canada? A sense of a real home, the formerly missing element, remained even once they left.
Why waste time wondering when the pandemic will be over? It’s over when we want it to be: when we are around people and out living, it’s furthest from our minds. Only when it’s raised in a Zoom call of too many people, all trying to appear serious, does it become our worst nightmare. Someone hasn’t been to a theater in a year, one doesn’t want to go back to the office, another is fearful for their kids. But, if you find yourself in this appalling company, just wait. Let one person drop-off, then another. Slowly as the number dwindles notice the tone change. Hear the humour they held back before and their ease in putting this in perspective – you see, it’s not got our humanity yet.