Being an accounting of the recent and continuing pandemic and its various circumstances, from the perspective of an inhabitant of the regions lately called the Lost Quarter. Dates unknown.

Day Twenty Six

I return to the page with a recipe for biscuits, as promised. But first a brief history of hardtack through the ages.

All armies, whether travelling by land or water, require feeding. A certain degree of living off the bounty of the conquered land is expected, but that is variable and dependent on the season and so rations of some measure are always required. Spoilage of food is the constant scourge or any camp cook. And so biscuits came about, a concoction of flour and water baked until hard as a rock so that it wouldn’t spoil. That made it easy to carry and also provided a handy projectile if one was desperate. The Egyptian navy had dhourra cake and the Romans had buccellum, and later civilizations all followed suit, crafting granite breads that could only be eaten by softening them in tea or under some gravy.  

Being an accounting of the recent and continuing pandemic and its various circumstances, from the perspective of an inhabitant of the regions lately called the Lost Quarter. Dates unknown.

Day Twenty Five

In these troubled times we are seeking comfort wherever we can find it. So many of us have turned to baking and cooking and that is not a surprise. It grounds us, to work on something with our hands and see this collection of mere ingredients transmogrified into something unimaginable. What could be more satisfying.

In the spirit of the moment I thought I would share an ancient recipe that has been passed down through my family for generations. I am speaking of a recipe for biscuits, that hardy companion of soldiers and labourers. It is a nearly foolproof procedure. I say nearly because my grandfather made some that even the dog wouldn’t eat, though he was a notably peculiar animal.

Being an accounting of the recent and continuing pandemic and its various circumstances, from the perspective of an inhabitant of the regions lately called the Lost Quarter. Dates unknown.

Day Twenty Four

Calamity doesn’t sleep in the Lost Quarter, or anywhere. We are awakened by sirens approaching, moaning through the night, groaning to a crescendo. When we arise to investigate we see them gathering to the east, huddled around an apartment block.

It is a mean looking place, chicken wire guarding the entrance to its parking lot. Often there are people lurking near the entrance when we pass by, even in these times of quarantine and letters of transit. They eye us skeptically as we pass, as we do them, taking care to keep our distance.

Being an accounting of the recent and continuing pandemic and its various circumstances, from the perspective of an inhabitant of the regions lately called the Lost Quarter. Dates unknown.

Day Twenty Three

The morning comes with sunshine at last, after days of miserable gloom, glaring down upon yesterday’s freshly fallen snow. It looks as though it will not last long under that stern gaze. One can only hope for I have had enough of winter. I tire even of writing of its eternal returns.

Our present moment will not end so soon we are told. The grippe has powers not seen in generations and he has marshalled them well, striking everywhere at once, overwhelming nations both great and small. The Lost Quarter will not be spared and we must be prepared for that and all that will follow. The current defensive measures, the quarantines, the letters of transit, all must persist.

Being an accounting of the recent and continuing pandemic and its various circumstances, from the perspective of an inhabitant of the regions lately called the Lost Quarter. Dates unknown.

Day Twenty Two

How this enforced confinement brings the urge to wander. And so I do, ignoring the miserable weather as best I can. Spring in the Lost Quarter is so often miserable, vanishing into winter at a moment’s notice, before finally relenting into summer. I long for that day to come.

Every chance encounter with a stranger contains within it a fraught moment where you wonder if they have their letters of transit about them, if they will chance to pass too near, or what their purpose is in being about. You pass each other, careful to keep your distance, sharing an uneasy smile, and go about your business feeling a wash of relief that you hate.

Being an accounting of the recent and continuing pandemic and its various circumstances, from the perspective of an inhabitant of the regions lately called the Lost Quarter. Dates unknown.

Day Twenty One

It is a day for a drink, as many days are now. We have passed a milestone of sorts, three weeks in quarantine in the Lost Quarter. Those weeks have seemed both unending and have passed in a sort of blur, each day bleeding into the next so that it has just been one long day marching every closer to the darkest night.

Being an accounting of the recent and continuing pandemic and its various circumstances, from the perspective of an inhabitant of the regions lately called the Lost Quarter. Dates unknown.

Day Twenty

The week that followed the building of the nest was snowy and cold, winter returning, if only briefly to the habitation. Bess having laid her eggs, they both stayed close to the nest during this time. But after a seemingly endless string of overcast and snowy days there came a bright and cheerful dawn that promised that spring might in fact truly be near.

Being an accounting of the recent and continuing pandemic and its various circumstances, from the perspective of an inhabitant of the regions lately called the Lost Quarter. Dates unknown.

Day Nineteen

This day is one I dare not forget. Life goes on even amidst these strange and unfamiliar days and it is still my love’s birthday.

How to celebrate when so much is forbidden us in these trying times? I think of all we have done in years past with a keen jealousy. We shall find a way of course. How could we not. We – all of us – must find ways to endure and we can only do that together.

I shall not waste time at writing today. I will be with her instead. I cannot imagine getting through this without her at my side.

Being an accounting of the recent and continuing pandemic and its various circumstances, from the perspective of an inhabitant of the regions lately called the Lost Quarter. Dates unknown.

Day Eighteen

The snow and cold continue. The sky is overcast and grey. Outside my window I can see the flakes dancing in the air as they make their steady descent to the ground. Going outside yesterday it felt like a day in mid-January, the wind with a hard edge and the snow implacable. April is the cruelest month, so they say, and there is nothing crueler than a winter that has overstayed its welcome.

I recall some years ago that the winter dragged on through most of April and even into May. It was an exhausting ordeal mentally. All you want is an end to the cold, to the snow, for the sun to shine and it actually to be warm.

That is what I want more than anything now as well. Winter can feel isolating enough, everyone bundled up and hurrying to a place where they can find warmth, but in our current predicament it is enough to make the strongest despair. My love curses the snow every time she looks out a window. That seems to give her some satisfaction, at least, even if the snow continues unabated.

The sight of barren fields is too much now. I long to see leaves on trees, for green grass and crops. In this time of devastation and death, the smallest signs of life can give hope.

Being an accounting of the recent and continuing pandemic and its various circumstances, from the perspective of an inhabitant of the regions lately called the Lost Quarter. Dates unknown.

Day Seventeen

Sleep refuses to come. Outside it is cold and snowing.

Mercifully there are no thoughts in my head, though I suspect they are there lurking and waiting for their moment to emerge. A strange emptiness has seized me, a blankness that is sometimes freeing, sometimes paralyzing. The future is an undrawn map, an unsurveyed domain, particularly now. That is both hopeful and terrifying in equal measure.