Good grief what a year. Seriously. What. A. Year. And to think it started off on the right foot, too.

A ten mile bike ride at the refuge to start off the New Year. It was calm winds, warm, and wonderful. Sadly the doggo could not join us and she sulked at the door of the car as we loaded. In her younger days, just a few short years ago, she would have jumped in the car and rested upon the drivers seat until she was evicted giving sad doggy eyes the whole time. Now she just sits depressingly wishing for youthful days. Sorry doggo even if we had a doggo cart, doggos are not allowed at the refuge.

February brought major improvement to my morning ten mile bike rides dropping a solid 10 minutes from the overall time. The Planner and I can now both ride 10 miles in just over 45 minutes. February also bought another garden this time in a box and with no okra. Tomatoes, green beans, squashes, and greens but no okras.

March is when things started to go adrift. First there was Covid lockdown the week after Spring Break, a break through leak in the Tractor Box resulting in roof repairs, and then the last morning ride where I completed my best time. With the world so unknown, riding bikes seemed unsafe even if when we ride it is 5:30am and not a sole is normally seen. The morning of my last ride, it was a last minute decision and we rode at daylight. It was an odd experience as we are normally back and showered before the sun ever breaks the horizon.

April continued with Covid lock down. Stores were a mess, groceries were hard to come by, and the Kid was still at home with virtual learning. Time was ticking by so slowly with bike rides no longer allowed, errands limited to one day a week, and open spaces in the boxes feeling cramped and confined. To help alleviate stress and fill time I hatched chickens. 28 days went by so quickly and 17 little peppers surely did bring some much needed smiles. Smiles to erase dreadful days of leaky water tanks, failed sourdough bread attempts (a bread maker I am not), and sales at work in a standstill.

May brought some new light on life. Boxes in Fields had adjusted to Covid lockdowns and confinement quarters without stepping on each other. The Planner worked in his box building a mower deck and window frame for the Work Box. The Kid worked on his school work without complaint and in some form of routine fitting his learning styles. Myself working on all the odds and ends that had collected over the past two years at work that had never been done. The garden was flourishing and the feathered friends were released into growing quarters. Their freedom flight was amazing. However, this biggest shining moment in May was the day I scored a package of hamburger meat. Hamburgers on the grill! No buns but we didn’t care.

June was the moment we have lived for since lockdowns started in March. For the first time since Spring Break, Boxes in Fields got to go visit the Doubter. There were no hugs or sitting within six feet of each other but since we worked outside the whole time cutting down dead trees space was not an issue. Five days of hard labor. It was glorious! A few weeks later the local beach opened with limited hours. Even the jellyfish couldn’t keep the Kid out of the water. What a trouper.

July came blowing through bringing with it a divisiveness. To mask or not to mask. To visit or not to visit. But even with the state of affairs tense and unknown, masks were put aside and people flocked to the beaches for the fourth of July. Boxes in Fields hid at home for three weeks straight as we did not wish to participate in the unmasked craze. Luckily our neighbors are big firework goers and we watched from the safety of our yard. Weeks later we ventured out to the store and came home to a missed visit from the Sailor. He was feeling alone after he too locked himself at home for three weeks during the fourth rush. School was starting in just a few weeks and the requirements were unknown. What to do? Send the Kid back, homeschool, flex school. Stress was mounting to extreme heights. Throw in a barely missed hurricane and I was coming apart at the seams.

August was a breaking point. Stress was consuming me and I couldn’t seem to break out of the cycle. Normally when stressed work clears the mind. Clarity could not be found even after a complete renovation of the Work Box. All sides were sand blasted, primed, and painted bright green. No matter the happiness of the green I was blue. Both the Planner and the Kid (who did not return to school and chose virtual learning for safety) tried to alleviate my inner demons. What finally broke the cycle was the simple act of kindness.

All during the craziness that was Covid lockdown and food shortages the chickens laid eggs. They laid them in the nesting boxes, in the coop, in the run, and apparently when let out they laid them in the grasses too. The doggo head so kindly informed us of these eggs as she came over with a mouth full of blue Amerucana egg. Eggs were divided amongst the Sailor, the Caretaker, the WeatherMan, the neighbor kid, and the neighbor who gave us the crushed asphalt. Everybody got some since the stores had none. The Saturday we sandblasted and primed the roof of the Work Box, the GravelMan neighbor was cooking on his BBQ pit. At the end of our very long day with the Planner and I putting tools away in the dark, the GravelMan walked over with two plates for dinner. Two plates that feed three people with leftovers. The GravelMan had planned ahead because he had enough corn, still warm in the husks, so that we each had a whole ear. A whole buttery, sweet, tender corn just off the grill. And that simple egg-corn relationship broke the drama in my head.

September and October were the month of food. The Planner scored a paying job for a fellow sailing friend who needed to bike rack for his Casita. Tired of being cooped up in their tiny house, they bought a tiny Casita trailer and planned to travel. This simple rack provided much needed income as I was in a cooking frenzy. There was cakes and cookies, pies and breads. There was pastas and soups, tacos and stir fry. There were new recipes, old recipes, and self created recipes. September and October were great for the spirit, bad for the waist line. At least they was tasty!

November and December bought more stress nationwide as people were tired of being holed up and wanted to visit family and friends. Once again the stress of masks vs no mask, visiting vs no visiting, vaccines vs no vaccines was causing a great divide. Media drama only added fuel to the fire and the great leaders were not leading but directing which dumpster. People needed to visit family to feel normal but what is normal? Boxes in Fields did what all American did. We visited family as safety as we could. Luckily the Doubter lives in the middle of nowhere and extended family did not come to celebrate. In between holiday visits we worked and worked and worked. We would have worked straight into the New Year but the weather held us back.

The Year of the Dumpster Fire has taught us so many things. There is always a lower to your low but there are many, many reasons to crawl out of the low. Cherish what you have and stop stressing the things you don’t. Nothing is ever a set in stone and in order to go with the flow one must be a noodle. So with the rain still falling and the weather cold too work outside, we did what all middle Americans do. We played death match MarioKart, ate warm tasty soup, and rang in the New Year from the comforts (ha! look at all those clothes) of our Rainstream hoping there are resolutions made next year.