TEXT & PHOTOS BY PAMELA WOLFF | July 4, 2020: First, we are well. It has been most of seven weeks since my first Notes from the Truro Woods. We are still ensconced in our house in the Truro woods, and glad to be. Our son Nic and his wife Liz are nearby in their happy place, the “Shack,” still quarantining for a few more days until we can socially gather.

We took a four day-trip to Chelsea (Manhattan) on June 14, in time for me to see Ed Kirkland on his 95th birthday, the next day. We spent the days doing medical check-up stuff and then beat it out of town. New York City seemed like a foreign city. Grateful for alternate side suspension, since my garage for the last 64 years has closed forever.

It was thrilling to see that our co-op’s famous 16 window boxes are filled with red geraniums and are in place on the windowsills across our whole 125 feet of frontage. I’m so proud of the home team! I did get the chance to sit on my front stoop of an evening, properly masked and distanced, just at the Chelseahenge moment and have a “tonic” with some of my neighbors, upholding a decades-long tradition. I understand the tradition is being maintained by those neighbors!

Spring has happened here at last, surrounding us in a bright green bower of barely believable vibrancy. It is especially lush this year, with the unusual rainfall. The woodland ferns are twice as tall, and we suddenly have five-foot tall digitalis blooming madly everywhere. I’m told the whole plant is highly poisonous for people and cats, but I can’t bring myself to rip it up.

Our furry and feathered visitors continue to appear, the turkeys now with their chicks. It seems like they bring them to present at court. At dusk they fly, almost straight up, into the tops of the pines.

Last week, a blue jay engaged badly with one of our tall windows, leaving it with what appeared to be some neurological damage. Nothing seemed broken, but he could not stand up. We left him on the ground for most of the day, and he seemed to improve. But late in the afternoon, we heard screeching of many blue jays, and looked out to see a pair of big blackbirds attacking the helpless jay. A battle ensued, with at least 10 jays sweeping down on the blackbirds, chasing them away. This happened twice, and finally one clever blackbird crept around the corner and nailed the jay. The blues again attacked, and the blackbird dropped the jay in mid-flight. I rescued the wounded jay, put him in a box, and took him off to Wildcare, in Eastham. They reported him as recovering, but today let me know he didn’t make it. We had hoped to reunite him with his flock. We’re bummed.

Right after we came back to Truro from NYC, I got sick. Then I got really sick. I was terrified it was COVID, then I was too sick to care. We got COVID-tested on Saturday, June 20, in Provincetown. It took until the following Wednesday to get the result: Negative for both of us. By then I was on the mend. Self-diagnosing, must have been Lyme, from the nymph ticks I have found on me on a regular basis since March. My temperature ranged from above 103 to a low of 96. My very retro glass mercury thermometer doesn’t read anything lower. Amazing hallucinatory dreams. Downside: I pretty much lost the week. Upside: I lost 5 lbs.

Apparently, I missed a bunch of Zoom meetings. Sorry, folks.

An old and dear friend went missing overnight in the South Truro woods. Car issues, mobility issues, communication issues. To the huge relief of all, she was found by some hikers, ok but tired and bug-bitten.

Today is July 4. I am searching for some reason to celebrate. Wait, my friend came out of the woods in one piece! Wait, Ed made it to 95! Wait, I just saw a YouTube of a group of Frederick Douglass’s descendants reading from his speeches. Go find it and watch. It’s inspiring. I’m celebrating!

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