The Irony of Reopening Here

Orcas Island was militantly careful with sanitizing, not touching, not traveling, and not communing for three months, and that was when it was just us islanders here.

Now that phases dictate our activities and restrictions have mellowed drastically, tourists from all over the place are coming in thicker by the weekend and the new vibe is strikingly casual in comparison. Things that we wouldn’t have dared to do or would have been socially shamed for a month or two ago, like being seen with a non-family member or loitering in the store, are a thing of the ever-so-recent past.

Imagine what it will be like here when Phase 3 begins. Fourth of July may not mean fireworks, but the island will nevertheless be bumping.

I will love that – I love seeing other human beings again. Lots of them. It will uplift my psyche, my emotions, my hope. I love tourists. I’d want to flee the cities and see all of this beauty too if I were them. I may not be hugging or communing with them, but I will nevertheless be enjoying their energy at a safe proximity. Gosh, I haven’t even been hugging islanders, as much as I sorely need it.

I revelled (wisely) in our first lake day spent with friends who had also been holed up for months, and I can’t wait to do it again when the clouds break.

But I’m all too conscious of the fact that the virus doesn’t “do” phases and will quietly come here fast, after all of that conscientious introvertedness. That the store will be the natural virus-spreading hub, since everyone on the island – local and tourist – needs food. And that the minute school starts in the fall after all of this summery activity, the first student case of COVID will shut us all down again by sending kids home to do school.

That is when this thing will get hard – when kids have to stay home again, parents have to stay home after six months of already being at home for spring and summer, no one has money, more businesses close, the ferry system faces winter with no traffic, the election looms, and six months of dark skies begin.

Perhaps islanders should quarantine for two weeks before school starts so we can at least start out on a safe note.

Until then, may we enjoy each other wisely and bask in the much-needed sunlight. I’m soaking up every bit of it as I ponder the unknowns looming ahead of us, racking my brain to devise an out-of-the-box Plan B for when things go south after all of the summer merriment.