Geekrant vs the Covid Autumn

 Greetings Geekranters,

Autumn has well and truly come to Wisconsin. As the winds get colder and the days shorter, I find myself struck by a thought that is at the same time both sobering and encouraging. It’s not a complex thought, mind you, no great epiphany on the nature of existence or deep journey into the deep interconnected nature of all reality. It is none of those things, it is just the simple realization that even in these chaotic times, the seasons still remain the same.

 The air turns cool at the same time, the leaves sense the rhythms of change and begin their gentle, yet inexorable waltz through the dry frigid air towards the chilled ground and the end of the year. In the middle of a global pandemic the likes of which have not been seen for a hundred years, where people seem to fear losing their lives and their freedoms in equal measure; caught up in one of the most contentious American Presidential campaigns of all time, where friendships and civility fall afoul of the loyalty tests of the self appointed online Pharisees of both the left and right wing, the seasons tell us that maybe, just maybe, we’ll make it out the other side.

Not that as humans we tend to notice these things, however. Though we are capable, as a species, of the highest art and the sweetest poetry imaginable, the deepest philosophy and the most beautiful music conceivable, sometimes it seems to me that we are only capable of such things when the timings right. 

So often, in times of comfort and ease, our more artistic and creative endeavors seem to find nothing but the most fertile of ground, they all prosper, born high on the wings of dreams. In times of distress and difficulty however, we seem to slip all too easily into, at best simple pragmatism and at worst, paralysing apathy caught in a seemingly inescapable whirlwind of despair. The fertile ground becomes barren and our dreams are stillborn.

The strange thing is though, aren’t the “times of trouble” that the Beatles so memorably sang about, the moments when we most need to be reminded of beauty and serenity? Is it not on these days that we need to have our eyes taken off the direness of our circumstance, to look beyond and see what still seems transcendent.

It is, in my experience, quite simply, much easier to be creative when our lives seem to be going well and very difficult to do the same when we travel through hard times. It’s true that many artists love the romantic, yet morbid, image of of the starving artist slowly wasting away in his garret, penning masterpieces as his life wastes away before him, but none of us actually want to be in his place.

All that as explanation, I suppose, for my lack of writing. I have had all the time in the world during lockdown, but how to combat the apathy that arises from social and emotional paralysis and instead look to how the seasons still change, the time and tide of the year waiting for no man? Nature finding its way when humanity is struggling. I admit to having failed in this effort somewhat.

The state of Wisconsin has become something of a battleground these days, a strategic beachhead to both Democrats and Republicans. A state that up until the 2016 election had voted for the Democratic candidate every election since the Reagan era, is the biggest target for the Democrats to win back. The political adverts try to make it sound like some epic struggle between the powers of good and evil. To me it sounds like America’s Dairyland has become the ultimate prize in an exceptionally childish game of capture the flag. Both sides trying to claim the state for their own before a single ballot has been counted.

 Its a strange identity for a place that seems to thrive on being laid back. A state that loves to relate. A realm of bars and supper clubs, where the backyard BBQ is a weekly occurrence and no argument can’t be set aside over beer and a bratwurst. Yet all that has been lost, a virus, a microscopic piece of mere existence has caused people to lose jobs, has separated them from friends and family, in some cases has led to people losing their lives. Even in Wisconsin, identity can be lost in the fear of Covid and the polemical nature of politics and it can make everything seem so helpless. 

In this atmosphere I don’t feel like writing most days, my words feeling empty, like leaves blown by the wind, not making an impact on anything, not telling any kind of story, words for the sake of words, a waste of time. Apathy can sink into every syllable, killing the desire to form the next letter.

Then I look at Autumn, the brown coated old man of the year, and I see the natural world going about its every day business, oblivious to all our troubles. As I look there are no squirrels wearing masks as they look for food to store for winter, my garden will have mostly died back by November and will return next year, whether the Amazing Cheeto Man or the Spectacular Mr Masked Geriatric win the presidency. Our new dog Orion loves playing in the autumn leaves as much as any dog ever has.

 As truly helpless as I feel, I must remember that its not the end of the world as we know it, despite all the prophets of doom and the social media experts who think they know everything about everything because they read a Buzzfeed article once upon a time. Whatever I think of either of candidate, Donald Trump hasn’t started the Nazi party of America and Joe Biden isn’t carrying around a copy of Chairman Mao’s Little Red Book. It’s not the end of the world as we know it. Whatever happens in November, people will survive and move on. We have to. We have to because nature finds a way and so eventually will humanity. 

Football still defines autumn in Wisconsin, the Packers have had their best start to a season in years and the Badgers will suit up and play, the apple orchards and pumpkin patches are still doing a brisk trade, restaurants and cafes are doing their best to find a way to meet people’s social needs while still keeping their distance. Maybe things aren’t hopeless, no matter how much I may feel it sometimes, because as I look outside the leaves are still falling and no virus or politician can prevent.

My words may only be as a substantial as a fallen leaf, but those leaves don’t fall alone, as my words aren’t written detached from each other, no, they get blown and raked into great piles, full of faded beauty, bringing joy and happiness even in the dying of the year. So maybe as I force myself to write, as the words will fall from my pen and get caught up by you, the reader. Maybe becoming something beautiful and maybe I won’t feel so helpless, because the Autumn leaves still fall and that means new ones will grow next year and that is something that brings me hope.