Got Schmeelk?

I am looking for some help in solving another family mystery involving my 3x great-grandmother.

Her name was Katherine Maria Schmeelk, though the spelling could be Katherine or Catherine and the note on the back of the photo says Marta instead of Maria. She was born around 1834 and died in 1901. Katherine married my 3x great-grandfather Adam Arth, an immigrant from Hesse-Darmstadt, Germany. Within his lifetime the name Arth became Art. 

In with the photo were two obituaries for Schmeelks that must be relatives of hers. One was from the N.Y. Times in 1935 for a Herman Marcus Schmeelk from Hanover, Germany, who had settled in Rockaway Beach, NY and was referred to as a "pioneer developer of oyster and clam beds." At the time of his death only two of his children survived, son Garrett and daughter Kathryn. 

Sounds like Kathryn is our person, right? But no. The second obituary was for Kathryn G. Schmeelk, daughter of Herman, who never married and never left Rockaway Beach, NY. As Katherine/Kathryn/Catherine was a VERY popular name for German women at the time, it is my best guess that Katherine and Kathryn were cousins. 

Except that Herman would have been born in 1850, about 15 years after my 3x great-grandma Katherine. So they could have been siblings? Cousins?

Ancestry has not been much help. They keep trying to push her father as either Blume or Seibel, both of whom did have daughters named Catherine of a similar age and both hailed from Germany, but none of the records for Katherine and Adam that we have line up with their families.

I am left with assuming that my Katherine is related to the Rockaway Beach Schmeelks, and according to Herman's obituary, his parents John and Catherine (Piper) Schmeelk brought him over as an infant from Hanover, Germany. I am starting a search both assuming and hoping this is the right family and maybe I can find her if I trace a lineage down from John.

It is always possible that Schmeelk was her married name before she wed Adam Arth, but there is no evidence to support that theory. And then it would be strange, for the time, for her to keep tabs of her former extended family. But I am keeping my options open.

I can't find any definitive records on her except for this notation on the back of her photo. But I'm trusting the family notes until I learn I can't and I'm writing this post in the hope that maybe someone else is looking for her family, too.

If anyone has any tips or knows of any specific German immigrant sources to search, I would appreciate any and all breadcrumbs.

A Century from Christmas to Solstice

I am very blessed to have photos of my ancestors' decorated holiday trees from a century ago. How wonderful, right?!

This first photo was taken-- probably around 1920, based on the ties under the tree, by my mom's maternal Art family. George and Katherine worked as groundskeeper and housekeeper for the Kenan family in Lockport. It's hard to say who the family photographer was, as the whole family appear in front of it at some point. The two sons appear least frequently. My guess is the camera was a gift to the family from their wealthy employers.

This photo was taken in 1922 by my dad's maternal Wicker family. Minnie Wicker's father was pretty well-to-do and she had her own camera and was quite the photographer for most of her life, which is a blessing for us, as her daughter, my grandmother, died when my dad was quite young. We are thrilled to have photos that span her entire life, from birth to marriage, to children of her own. We're blessed to have many of Minnie's photographs, including this one of a Christmas tree on their front porch.

Third photo is my family's Winter Solstice tree taken on night-vision setting, 2021, almost exactly 100 years later. While our religious beliefs may differ, we honor our traditions in the same way; by lighting hope in the darkness.

A century ago, our ancestors would have just been recovering from the two years of flu that crippled the country, not unlike where we are now. I'm thinking about my family, across the miles and generations, gathering together, celebrating the importance of togetherness and fellowship.

However you bear witness to the holiday season, whatever it is you celebrate, know we are following in the footsteps of Those Who Came Before Us, coming together to mark the turning years, looking behind and looking ahead.

Cleansing my Ancestor Altar

Moments.

I had to stop counting the number of the dead. I have spent a year watching the numbers and my soul is weary. My beloveds have lost beloveds to covid-19. We have lost people who could not get adequate services because the medical field is saturated.

When I am overwhelmed I stop and go back to the beginning, I go back to breath. I had been praying for so many people, for so many lives, that it became hard to focus my intention. So I went back to my altar, I stripped it bare, and I rebuilt it again.

Starting Anew.

I scrubbed the surface. I touched everything. Did it still have energy? Did it still feel sacred? 

Some items evolved into better, newer pieces. Some items felt finished and moved on to other homes.

The surface was bare. It was fresh, both new and familiar.

Adding in Ancestors.

I bought a second photo tree and added new photos. I have one tree for my maternal line and one for my paternal. There are items that belonged to my grandparents and stones I treasure. I have my candle holder made of fossil stone. I have my water glass for offerings.

My father's mother: Ruth Ruston, her parents Minnie Wicker and Frank Ruston, Minnie's parents Emma Whitcher and Hiram Wicker, Frank's parents Ruth Ireland and Charles Ruston.
&
My mother's father: Richard Riddle, his parents Harold Riddle and Elsie Durant, Harold's parents Lafayette Riddle and Frances Gillette, Elsie's parents Albert Durant and Louse Burnah.

My father's father: Mark Eaton, his parents Royal Eaton and Hattie Smith, Royal's parents Bennett Eaton and Theresa Tenney, Hattie's parents Silas Smith and Hattie Dutcher.
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My mother's mother: Patricia Art, her parents Margaret Burke and Robert Art, Robert's parents Katherine Pils and George Art, Albert Durant's parents Rosella LaValley and Albert Oliver Durant

Preparing to Pray.

When I prepared my altar that first night, on the first of May, the balance point to Samhain, when the spirit energy is also thick, my heart felt a measure of peace. My thoughts were stronger and clearer, and I picked up my prayers, for my loved ones, for my community, for the world.

I called to my ancestors who had known struggle and disease, plague and famine. I ask them for guidance. I ask them for strength. I ask them to watch over those who are passing over and those who are left behind.

I call to my ancestors, names known and unknown, and I light my altar.

The Irish In Me

Donegal County, from Lonely Planet

Most of my life I assumed I was genetically a European mix. After my DNA results came in from Ancestry I learned that I was only 46% European mutt. I was also 20% Scottish and 14% Irish. Then some German, Swedish, and French. I also know that, as my dad had no Irish in his make-up and 50% of mine came from him, all of the Irish comes from my mother.

Family research does show Irish ancestors on my dad’s side going back after 20+ generations or so but the Irish in my genes came from my mom.

The birds are trying to sing their spring songs outside, despite the snow flurries we had yesterday and the biting temperatures. We are so near the equinox. The days are lengthening and in my little garden, the tiger lilies are thinking about peeking out of the earth with their bright green shoots and we are planning the out the rest of the plots, dreaming about hands turning warm dirt.

And I am thinking about my Irish heritage. Because of how long most of my other family lines have been in this country, I was surprised to discover how recently all of my known Irish ancestors came to this country.

On my mom’s paternal side, the first of my immigrant ancestors from Ireland to step on American soil was my 7x great-grandfather David Calhoun, born in Donegal in 1690. He settled and died in Connecticut. David's grandfather was originally from Scotland, so his family blood was Scotch-Irish, but David only knew Ireland as his home until he left for America.

Thomas Riddle, also found spelled Ridel or Riddell, was born in Ireland in 1739. He was my 6x great-grandfather. He married in America when he was 20 and Thomas fought for the colonies in the Revolutionary War as a Private in 1775. I found other family of his listed Tyrone County as flax growers.

My 6x great-grandparents John Berry, born in 1762, and Nancy Matchet, born in 1767, came to America from Ireland together and settled in the small town of Mayfield in New York. There are still Berrys living in Mayfield; my direct ancestors lived there for four generations. They even have their own family cemetery. I have a current lead that Berry came from County Kerry in Ireland that I am investigating.

On my mom’s maternal side, my other Irish ancestors all immigrated to New York, where the Erie Canal was. Thomas Burke was born in Ireland in 1832. He is listed as living in Lockport in 1855 with his widowed mother Ann, employed in "boating." He later fought for the 12^th Independent Company during the Civil War.

My 4x great-grandfather Barney Dowd came over from Ireland with his daughters and their families. I have always held him as a possible grandfather, because he was living for a while with Mary and David Conners, my 3x great-grandparents. But I found information that might mean the Conners came from Kerry County, which would make Mary’s last name Lenchen, which would likely remove Barney Dowd from my tree.

My Lockportian ancestors all lived in the areas of my hometown known as Lowertown, where the Irish who worked on the canal had set up their homes. In honor of them, and all those who came before them, I'll set out a bowl of warm honey and milk over soda bread and I'll pour a pint of ale for them.

I'll honor those who left their homelands for a country that treated them like vermin. I honor that Irish spirit that allowed them to persevere and plant roots. I call on that strength in hard times. They live on through me.

May it be so.

COVID-19 Deaths Month 11: January

We lost almost 100,000 Americans in one month.

 

We lost almost 100,000 Americans in one month.

 

I lost a beloved this month. It was cancer. But COVID-19 kept me from saying goodbye in person. My heart hurts. In my grief I see every maskless face as the reason we are still in the thick of this pandemic.

 

People I know are getting the vaccine. I already know people who have had their second dose. So there is light ahead. But there are also variant strains of COVID-19 spreading now. We must remain vigilant.

 

Wear a mask. Wash your hands. Six feet apart. Isolate.

 

I check the total dead each day. I have a list of numbers. Every night at midnight I light my ancestor altar. I call on those who weathered plagues and mysterious illnesses that swept through villages and cities. I call on my foremothers and fathers who lost loved ones, and those who lost their own lives in such times. I ask them to guide the dead. I ask them to watch over the living. I ask them to wrap the world in some measure of peace.

And I chant the number of souls who died that day. I chant it seven times. I wish them ease. I wish them peace. I sometimes cry for their families, for the ones who died alone. Especially for the ones who died alone. Viruses don't care about human need. I try to remember that.

It's a simple ritual. It keeps me mindful of what is happening outside of my own isolation.

 

In January, we lost ninety-seven thousand three-hundred and eighty-three Americans.

97,384

That's near the total population of the city of Albany, NY in 2010.

Since the rise of the pandemic 458,121 Americans have died.

 

Dear gods and ancestors, we have passed 400,000 dead and are near to 500,000. Feel that weight. It’s been a long time. We’re coming up on a year.

 

Light a candle. Say a prayer. Wear a mask. Wash your hands. Stay six feet apart. We can do this. May we all come out the other side.

 

 

[Statistics gathered from this W.H.O. website. They have changed as the numbers have come in, so there is some wiggle room around the exact number.]

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A Contemplative Poem for the Month

This is the time to be slow,

Lie low to the wall

Until the bitter wind passes.

 

Try, as best you can, not to let

The wire brush of doubt

Scrape from your heart

All sense of yourself

And your hesitant light.

 

If you remain generous,

Time will come good;

And you will find your feet

Again on fresh pastures of promise,

Where the air will be kind

And blushed with beginning.

 

~John O’Donohue

COVID-19 Deaths Month 10: December

 

Remember when we were horrified the death toll was nearing 100,000?

Hold onto some of that horror. Nothing should feel normal right now. The hospitals are getting full again. The medical staff are still running, as they have been since March. Only now they're tired. They're getting sick. They're dying, too. What happens when there aren't enough staff to care for the ill? Will we prioritize it then?

Be vigilant. Stay safe. Mask up when you have to go out. Be mindful of everything you touch. Wash your hands. Wash your masks. Stay home as much as you can.

[And be understanding of your possible privilege vs. other people's limitations. Staying home isn't easy for everyone. For example, the poorest of our people are the ones who work those drive-thru windows people are counting on right now. That one stimulus check has been long gone and bills are still due.]

Neighbors on both sides of us have all contracted COVID-19 because they have to work essential service jobs.

We can see another side coming. The doctors, nurses, and teachers I know are starting to get their first vaccine shot. We can see the other side we just have to survive the in-between. More and more people will have access to the vaccines after the essential workers get them. We have made it this far. We can be a bit more patient yet.

We have to be. Our ancestors are asking it of us.

 

I continue to pray that this does not get worse. Our numbers were so much better than I expected them to be this summer but they have been climbing again since the holiday season started. I get the Want involved with seeing family. I get why it felt more important this year. There have been years I have had to miss a holiday with my family for work reasons. It did not feel as much of a loss then as it felt this year. I get it. My family had a health scare this summer. It hurt not to see them.

 

But I know three people who were not allowed to be with a parent when they died this year because of the necessary COVID-19 protocols. That is a sacrifice they were forced to make. So, a quiet holiday at home? I can do that. I can do that for them. What my community Needs of me outweighs what I need or want.

 

The basic news still applies. Wear a mask. Wash your hands. Six feet apart. Isolate.

 

Don’t try to pretend things are normal.

I check the total dead each day. I have a list of numbers. Every night at midnight I light my ancestor altar. I call on those who weathered plagues and mysterious illnesses that swept through villages and cities. I call on my foremothers and fathers who lost loved ones, and those who lost their own lives in such times. I ask them to guide the dead. I ask them to watch over the living. I ask them to wrap the world in some measure of peace.

And I chant the number of souls who died that day. I chant it seven times. I wish them ease. I wish them peace. I sometimes cry for their families, for the ones who died alone. Especially for the ones who died alone. Viruses don;t care about human need. I try to remember that.

It's a simple ritual. It keeps me mindful of what is happening outside of my own isolation.

 

In December, we lost seventy-one thousand eight-hundred and forty-three Americans.

71,843

That's near the total population of the city of Mt. Vernon, NY in 2010.

Since the rise of the pandemic 360,737 Americans have died of it.

 

Over 300,000 Americans have died and we are very near to 400,000.

 

Light a candle. Say a prayer. Wear a mask. Wash your hands. Stay six feet apart. We can do this. May we all come out the other side.

 

 

[Statistics gathered from this W.H.O. website. They have changed as the numbers have come in, so there is some wiggle room around the exact number.]

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A Contemplative Poem for the Month

 

This is the solstice, the still point

of the sun, its cusp and midnight,

the year’s threshold

and unlocking, where the past

lets go of and becomes the future;

the place of caught breath, the door

of a vanished home left ajar.

 

~Margaret Atwood

COVID-19 Deaths Month 9: November

Most of my friends are working from home now (or trying to work from home while also simultaneously acting as IT person for their children all day). A lot of my friends are in the kind of jobs that require them to work and interact with the public. It’s retail season. I worry for them. I am certain the Post office will see a higher number of packages sent out this December.

And still, people are planning holiday visits…

I fear the numbers will climb after Thanksgiving.

I keep praying it does not get worse. I remind myself that we only know what we know until we learn it to be untrue. The science will change as we learn new things about this particular virus. It's important that we stay open to that. The basic news still applies. Wear a mask. Wash your hands. Six feet apart. Isolate.

I check the total dead each day. I have a list of numbers. Every night at midnight I light my ancestor altar. I call on those who weathered plagues and mysterious illnesses that swept through villages and cities. I call on my foremothers and fathers who lost loved ones, and those who lost their own lives in such times. I ask them to guide the dead. I ask them to watch over the living. I ask them to wrap the world in some measure of peace.

And I chant the number of souls who died that day. I chant it seven times. I wish them ease. I wish them peace. I sometimes cry for their families, for the ones who died alone. Especially for the ones who died alone. Viruses don't care about human need. I try to remember that.

It's a simple ritual. It keeps me mindful of what is happening outside of my own isolation.

 

This month's death toll went up again.

 

In November, we lost thirty-six thousand seven-hundred and sixty-eight Americans.

36,768

That's near the total population of the city of Valley Stream, NY in 2010.

Since the rise of the pandemic 288,894 Americans have died of it.

 

Light a candle. Say a prayer. Wear a mask. Wash your hands. Stay six feet apart. We can do this. May we all come out the other side.

 

[Statistics gathered from this W.H.O. website. They have changed as the numbers have come in, so there is some wiggle room around the exact number.]

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A Contemplative Poem for the Month

 

Today

 

Today I’m flying low and I’m

not saying a word.

I’m letting all of the voodoos of ambition

sleep.

 

The world goes on as it must,

the bees in the garden rumbling a little,

the fish leaping, the gnats getting eaten.

And so forth.

 

But I’m taking the day off.

Quiet as a feather.

I hardly move though really I’m traveling

a terrific distance.

 

Stillness. One of the doors

Into the temple.

 

~ Mary Oliver

 

COVID-19 Deaths Month 8: October

I still can’t believe we have lost over 200,000 Americans to this virus. People are done with staying at home. They miss going out. They miss concerts and theatre and sports and… I get it. So do my friends who are essential workers and have HAD to leave their homes and expose themselves to the public.

My friends who are doctors and nurses and nursing care workers and hospice workers and housekeepers and custodians and janitors are tired. They are overworked and understaffed and they need us to be better than we’re being. And we can best help them by staying home as much as we can. I mean, some places still do not require masks in public spaces. I can’t believe we’re still questioning the science about how viruses spread.

This is the month where I specifically focus on honoring the dead. This month that focus was on over 200,000 strangers.

I check the total dead each day. I have a list of numbers. Every night at midnight I light my ancestor altar. I call on those who weathered plagues and mysterious illnesses that swept through villages and cities. I call on my foremothers and fathers who lost loved ones, and those who lost their own lives in such times. I ask them to guide the dead. I ask them to watch over the living. I ask them to wrap the world in some measure of peace.

And I chant the number of souls who died that day. I chant it seven times. I wish them ease. I wish them peace. I sometimes cry for their families, for the ones who died alone. Especially for the ones who died alone. Viruses don't care about human need. I try to remember that.

It's a simple ritual. It keeps me mindful of what is happening outside of my own isolation.

 

 

In October, we lost twenty-three thousand three-hundred and three Americans.

23,303

That's near the total population of the city of Peekskill, NY in 2010.

Since the rise of the pandemic 252,126 Americans have died of it.

 

 

Light a candle. Say a prayer. Wear a mask. Wash your hands. Stay six feet apart. If you think you are ill isolate yourself for 72 hours. If you think you have been exposed quarantine yourself for 14 days before exposing anyone else to you. Video chat with your loved ones. We can do this. May we all come out the other side.

 

 

[Statistics gathered from this W.H.O. website. They have changed as the numbers have come in, so there is some wiggle room around the exact number.]

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A Contemplative Poem for the Month

 

Stay Home

 

I will wait here in the fields

to see how well the rain

brings on the grass.

In the labor of the fields

longer than a man’s life

I am at home. Don’t come with me.

You stay home too.

 

I will be standing in the woods

where the old trees

move only with the wind

and then with gravity.

In the stillness of the trees

I am home. Don’t come with me.

You stay home too.

 

~ Wendell Berry

My Family & the Flu of 1918

[Stock photo]

It's October in America. Some of us have been living under restrictions and in isolation since March. I know people who have lost family members they did not get to see. In this country we have currently lost 208,000 deaths from COVID-19. There have been over 1 million deaths globally.

How can we find hope and strength while still in the midst of this pandemic?

The Flu of 1918

I looked to our history. And I looked to my history. This is not our first pandemic that has required masks and isolation. Some media call it the Influenza Epidemic of 1918 or the Influenza Pandemic. Most commonly it is known as the Spanish Flu. That is a misnomer (I'll explain that below). 

The Flu of 1918 first made its appearance in March of that same year in the case of an Army cook in Kansas. It spread through the Camp but was not seen to be deadlier than an average flu. Then the troops were deployed. America had joined World War I in April of 1917. Our troops brought the new flu to England with them and it spread through Europe, through the French and British troops in April and May.

So why do we know it as the Spanish Flu of 1918? None of the other countries were publishing any news that could be harmful to their troops and stories of illness among the soldiers counted. Spain was the only country putting out information about this new and deadly flu and they were the first country to write about it. 

[Stock photo]

The second wave of the 1918 Flu was far deadlier than the first. Just as the deaths seemed to ebb in August, the virus mutated and troops returned from England infected with a new strain. The most brutal months occurred in the fall of 1918, from September to November.

In the month of October 1918 alone, 195,000 Americans died of it. The new strain claimed the lives of the old and very young as well as previously healthy adults in their prime and their deaths were horrific to the medical community. Medical science didn't understand what viruses were let alone the cytokine explosion effect the pandemic had on it's victims. 

Life in Buffalo NY

All of my ancestors who were alive during the Flu of 1918 lived in Western New York, close to Lake Ontario. People stayed inside as much as possible. Schools and theatres and stores closed. Everything was shut down. People tried whatever remedies they could conceive, like wearing bags of camphor around their necks.

Everyone wore masks. The mayor of Buffalo restricted gatherings of more than 10 people. All restrictions were enforced, and many enforced within the community itself. But there were groups that tried to get special dispensation to gather and meet. Of course there were. There was even a large anti-mask group that rose up in San Francisco, claiming their Rights were being infringed upon.

During a global health crisis.

Towns along the railroads were particularly afflicted as it spread. So many medical people were overseas aiding the war effort that hospitals and casket makers were overwhelmed. There were just too many cases and too many dead.

It has happened before. It could happen again. Where can we find strength after such a long period of isolating when we know it s not over yet?

My Great-Great Grandparents' World

I wanted to know the names and faces of my ancestors who had lived to see such times before and I checked my family tree to see who was alive during the worst months of the pandemic.

My great-great-grandmother Theresa Tenney-Eaton, a widow, was 58. She lived in Somerset NY and was the head of house, living with her son, William Bennett, 38, and his wife, Lena, 40. Their five children were also living with Theresa. On September 12, during the worst months of virus, William registered his World War I draft card. All survived.

Roy Eaton & Hattie Smith  & family

Theresa's other son and my great-grandpa Royal Eaton, 45, and his wife Hattie Eva Smith, 36, lived in Auburn NY with their three children, including my Grandpa Mark who was just three years old. Great-grandpa Roy also registered his WWI draft card on Sept 2, during the thick of the flu. All survived.

Emma Whitcher, Ruth Ruston, & Ruth Ireland

My 2x great-grandparents Charles Ruston, 64, and Ruth Ireland, 57, were living in Lockport NY with their daughters Maude, 36, and Ruth, 21. All survived.

Their son and my great-grandpa Frank Ruston, 29, and his wife Minnie Wicker, 27, had been married for five years. Their oldest child, my Grandma Ruth, was 2. Minnie's mother, my widowed 2x great-grandma Emma Whitcher-Wicker, was 70 years old and lived with them in Lockport NY, along with a schoolteacher boarder. All survived.

Katherine Pils & young grandchildren

My German great-great-grandparents George Art, 47, and Katherine Pils, 45, were servants working for the wealthy Kenan family. The couple were living with their youngest two children, Walter, 23, & Alice, 20. All survived.

Their eldest son, and my great-grandpa Robert Art, 25, and his wife Margaret Burke, 24. had been married and living in Lockport for five years. They had two small daughters, the youngest having been born just that same year. There had been a second daughter who died in 1916. All alive during the flu survived.

In Newfane NY my great-great-grandparents Lafayette Riddle, 48, and Frances Gillette, 43, still had four kids home on the farm and my great-grandpa Harold, 15, was one of them. All survived.

Even my great-great-great-grandparents Albert Durant, 76, and Rosella LaValley, 75, both of Quebec origins, survived, though Albert died two years later and Rosella the year after him.

Elsie Durant, far left in glasses, and other Durants

Their son, my great-great-grandpa George Durant, 39, and Emma Louise Burnah, 49, were newly living in Lockport, having moved from Piercefield NY. My great-grandma Elsie, 13, was the last of their children still at home.

The End of the Flu of 1918

At the time, PA state medical inspector W.E. Matthews said, "The most dangerous time of all is right now, when the disease is disappearing. There is always the possibility of people letting up in their precautions or not taking the precautions that are so necessary in checking the spread of the disease." 

[Stock photo]

He was right. There was a third wave of deaths, with as high a count as the second one. History believes the virus ebbed when the war ended because we stopped shipping and mobilizing troops around the world, cross-contaminating our countries.

The pandemic lasted from 1918-1919. It killed 2-5 million people globally. Over 675,000 Americans died of it over two years. We're at 208,000 after seven months.

And Now?

History teaches us that there will be an end to this version of pandemic. We know that we have medical knowledge and technology we didn't have then. There are reasons to be hopeful. But we have to do our part.

The second wave has not struck us yet. 

Wear your masks to protect other people from your germs. Wear your masks to protect you from other people's germs. Wash your hands regularly. Socially-distance for real. Isolate if you feel unwell. Invest in a thermometer.

May we all come through the other side of this. 

COVID-19 Deaths Month 7: September

 

The college students have been mostly good in our town since the first weekend. There were parties. But the schools cracked down quickly and threatened to send them home. It is oddly eerie for the neighborhood to be so quiet, so much so that the autumn equinox snuck up on us. How is it fall already? We have been in some phase of lockdown for six months now. 

I celebrated by finally risking a haircut, with all the proper precautions in place. There were only four of us in the entire salon. My house has ordered food in a few times but we are sure to tip very well. We’ve stopped wiping down our groceries when we get home as it was found to be unnecessary. The science around the virus keeps evolving. We are learning more about it.

The basic news still applies. Wear a mask. Wash your hands. Six feet apart. Isolate.

I check the total dead each day. I have a list of numbers. Every night at midnight I light my ancestor altar. I call on those who weathered plagues and mysterious illnesses that swept through villages and cities. I call on my foremothers and fathers who lost loved ones, and those who lost their own lives in such times. I ask them to guide the dead. I ask them to watch over the living. I ask them to wrap the world in some measure of peace.

I chant the number of souls who died that day. I chant it seven times. I wish them ease. I wish them peace. I sometimes cry for their families, for the ones who died alone. Especially for the ones who died alone. Viruses don't care about human need. I try to remember that.

It's a simple ritual. It keeps me mindful of what is happening outside of my own isolation.

 

In September, we lost twenty-two thousand one-hundred and eighty-six Americans.

22,186

That's near the total population of the city of Garden City, NY in 2010.

Since the rise of the pandemic 228,823 Americans have died of it.

 

Over 200,000 Americans have died of COVID-19.

 

Light a candle. Say a prayer. Wear a mask. Wash your hands. Stay six feet apart. If you think you are ill isolate yourself for 72 hours. If you think you have been exposed quarantine yourself for 14 days before exposing anyone else to you. Video chat with your loved ones. We can do this. May we all come out the other side.

 

 

[Statistics gathered from this W.H.O. website. They have changed as the numbers have come in, so there is some wiggle room around the exact number.]

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A Contemplative Poem for the Month

 

[I carry your heart with me (I carry it in)]

 

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in

my heart) i am never without it (anywhere

i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done

by only me is your doing, my darling)

                                                i fear

no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want

no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)

and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

 

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows

higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

 

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

 

~e.e. cummings

COVID-19 Deaths Month 6: August

The virus is the dominant force in our world right now. It dictates what rules need occur. We must be like the reed and bend lest we break. The basic news still applies. Wear a mask. Wash your hands. Six feet apart. Isolate.

Our numbers have been better this summer than I expected them to be. We moved through Phase Three of reopening New York into Phase Four this month, which means most things can be open as long as they can follow covid protocols. Most restaurants spent the last couple of months building outdoor seating and spaces, waiting for this, even while doing take-out orders. But we’ve seen, in town, businesses already flaunting the rules by letting people sit inside their restaurants to eat. They got in trouble for it. We’re not supposed to gather indoors with more than 10-25 people, depending on the size of the space. Our local covid numbers are getting traced back to bars and restaurants and gyms. But the death rate is not climbing as much.

It’s been a long half a year. Even this introverted hermit is feeling the absence of the little social contact I had come to rely on. It propels me to be vigilant about safety protocols so that we can get through this sooner than later.

I check the total dead each day. I have a list of numbers. Every night at midnight I light my ancestor altar. I call on those who weathered plagues and mysterious illnesses that swept through villages and cities. I call on my foremothers and fathers who lost loved ones, and those who lost their own lives in such times. I ask them to guide the dead. I ask them to watch over the living. I ask them to wrap the world in some measure of peace.

And I chant the number of souls who died that day. I chant it seven times. I wish them ease. I wish them peace. I sometimes cry for their families, for the ones who died alone. Especially for the ones who died alone. Viruses don't care about human need. I try to remember that.

It's a simple ritual. It keeps me mindful of what is happening outside of my own isolation.

 

In August, we lost thirty-one thousand six-hundred and thirty-five Americans.

31,635

That's near the total population of the city of Jamestown, NY in 2010.

Since the rise of the pandemic 206,637 Americans have died of it.

 

Over 200,000 Americans have now died of COVID-19.

 

 

Light a candle. Say a prayer. Wear a mask. Wash your hands. Stay six feet apart. If you think you are ill isolate yourself for 72 hours. If you think you have been exposed quarantine yourself for 14 days before exposing anyone else to you. Video chat with your loved ones. We can do this. May we all come out the other side.

 

 

[Statistics gathered from this W.H.O. website. They have changed as the numbers have come in, so there is some wiggle room around the exact number.]

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A Contemplative Poem for the Month

 

When I Am Among the Trees

When I am among the trees,
especially the willows and the honey locust,
equally the beech, the oaks and the pines,
they give off such hints of gladness.
I would almost say that they save me, and daily.
I am so distant from the hope of myself,
in which I have goodness, and discernment,
and never hurry through the world
but walk slowly, and bow often.
Around me the trees stir in their leaves
and call out, “Stay awhile.”
The light flows from their branches.
And they call again, “It’s simple,” they say,
“and you too have come
into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled
with light, and to shine.”

 

~ Mary Oliver