E20 EZ EE THE WASHINGTON POST.SUNDAY, AUGUST 2 , 2020
AYA OKAWAThe coronavirus pandemic has disrupted travel domestically and around the world. You will find
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wapo.st/travelcontest2020Submissions open for 21st annual photo contest
PAT NICKLINWALTER NICKLIN FOR THE WASHINGTON POSTcolor blue has been shown to be
associated with spikes of creativi-
ty. Since Pat’s now a painter, may-
be I can become a p oet. At the v ery
least, a poetry reader:
But one looks at the sea/As one
improvises, on the piano. Those
words are from the fugue-like
“Variations on a Summer Day,” by
Wallace S tevens. He w rote it in the
1930 s while vacationing near this
very spot. Also from that poem:
Words add to the senses... the eye
grown larger, more intense. As I
read, my rocker moves in easy,
iambic rhythm with the waves.
The days move rhythmically as
well, undisturbed by the discor-
dant noise of politics, heat adviso-
ries and social media. A literal
“new dawn” marks the beginning
of each day as the sun peeks over
the ocean vista. A light-diffusing
fog sometimes softens the sun but
is typically burned off by midmorn-
ing to reveal a vivid bluebird sky.
The prevailing winds bring crisp
ocean breezes that keep tempera-
tures cool and mosquitoes away.
Time moves so slowly toward au-
tumn you’re unaware that the sun
sets a bit farther south on the west-
ern horizon each evening. When
night finally falls, the pitch-black
sky, unpolluted by artificial light,
exposes the vastness of the Milky
Way and the smallness of even a
pandemic in the scheme of things.
When the quarantine ends, Pat
and I treat ourselves to an o utdoor
dinner at the local lobster shack.
We talk about how each day has
blended so easily into the next, the
way summertime is supposed to
be. The quarantine reminds me of
school vacation when I was a boy,
when the summer seemed to
stretch out endlessly before me. It
would never end, and then it’s
over.
[email protected]Nicklin is a writer based in Virginia and
Maine. Find him on Twitter:
@RoadTripRedux.can now avoid the Maine quaran-
tine altogether. And residents
from other states can, i n lieu o f the
quarantine, provide proof of a re-
cent coronavirus test. “Know be-
fore you go,” advises the website
Maine.gov/covid19. Maine’s re-
strictions seem to be working, as
its coronavirus death, hospitaliza-
tion and positive-testing rates re-
main among the lowest in the
country.)
Pat sets aside a few hours each
day for her consultancy work with
Zoom calls and emails. But the
most satisfying work is using our
hands to tackle the long overdue
project of repairing and repaint-
ing the cabin deck. Even just “put-
tering around” c an suddenly seem
profound. The most routine of
household chores, like vacuum-
ing, are reincarnated in a shelter-
in-place setting — no longer lay-
ered in the dust of too much infor-
mation, no longer something “to
get over with” to have time for
“more important” things.
What could be more important
than finding and discarding the
nests of field mice who overwin-
tered in our cozy cabin’s drawers
and kitchen cabinets? Their pel-
lets of poop can h arbor a virus, too,
often deadly when aerosolized.
Not the coronavirus, but the han-
tavirus. Not chipmunk cute.
With invisible agents of death
lurking all about, you don’t need
the thrill of adventure travel to
sharpen the senses. Just softly
swaying in my Adirondack rocker
while gazing at t he undulating s ea
outside the window seems, coun-
terintuitively, as consciousness-
raising as my long-ago attempt to
summit Mont Blanc. There’s re-
newed appreciation for what I
have in being alive — and what
could be lost.
Staring at the ocean can actual-
ly change your brain waves and
put you into a mildly meditative
state, so I’ve been told. I can attest
my blood pressure drops. And theI don’t ask Pat, who is in the
other room organizing her a rt m a-
terials to embark upon a series of
seascapes. Will it be pastels and
paper or oils and canvas? While
she’s painting, what book should I
read? Perhaps the bestseller I
bought last year but was too busy
to read, Jenny Odell’s “How to Do
Nothing?” Such are the difficult
decisions that must be addressed
under self-quarantine.
But one decision I will never
have to make is which cable news
show to watch, for I vow not to
hook up our TV service. Un-
plugged, tuned out: a two-week
quarantine keeping “the news”
out and the virus at bay. After all,
escapism is what a cabin in Maine
should be all about.
Having no notion of social dis-
tancing, the chipmunks seem less
timid than in summers past. So,
too, at n ight, the s kunks. N o doubt
they are happy that fewer “sum-
mer p eople” are sharing their hab-
itat. “So cute!” Pat invariably ex-
claims each time a chipmunk
scampers from shoreline rocks to
shrubs of beach rose.
The ubiquitous presence of
chipmunks in Maine I once took
for granted. Now, with quaran-
tine-imposed, laserlike focus, I
want to learn everything there is
to know about Tamias striatus
(Eastern chipmunk). A well-worn
Audubon field guide, unearthed
on the cabin bookshelves, serves
as the departure point for my ex-
ploration.
A couple of times each day, to
prevent cabin fever, Pat and I join
the chipmunks outside and go for
walks along the rocky shoreline.
As l ong as we don’t g o where other
people are, we don’t violate
Maine’s CDC quarantine guide-
lines. Specifically, we’re to avoid
bars, restaurants, retail business-
es, gyms, pools or any kind of
shared facilities. You’re on your
honor; Big Brother isn’t w atching.
(Residents of Northeast statesyet feel like a quarantine.
As Pat and I open all the cabin
windows to listen to the waves
breaking against the rocks, the
scent and taste of the salt air seem
especially meaningful. “We must
not have yet caught covid-19!” I
can’t help but remark, for one of
the first coronavirus symptoms is
said to be loss of taste and smell.
On the horizon 11 miles out is
Monhegan Island, inspiration for
some of America’s best-known art-
ists — Robert Henri, Rockwell
Kent, George Bellows, Edward
Hopper, Jamie Wyeth. In my
mind’s e ye I can see their work. And
is that a mermaid I hear singing?tels and hotels. But the biggest
deterrent to driving a car u p Inter-
state 95 and the Jersey Turnpike is
something I never heard of before
(and never wanted to think
about): toilet plumes. Because
flushing toilets release a cloud of
aerosol droplets that can contain
the coronavirus, public restrooms
are primary places to be avoided.
As a man well-practiced in pee-
ing discreetly behind trees and
bushes, I’m not as concerned as
my wife, Pat. So on the morning of
our departure she makes a point
of not drinking her usual multiple
cups of coffee. We also bypass the
big communal bathrooms at the
interstate rest stops. Instead, we
take exits that lead to either se-
cluded wooded areas or off-the-
beaten-path gas stations with sin-
gle-occupancy bathrooms.
We manage to make it to Maine
with only three pit stops. Unusual-
ly light traffic (because of the pan-
demic?) means the 615 -mile drive
takes a little less than 11 hours. At
least another hour is needed,
upon arrival at the cabin, to un-
pack the car bulging with grocer-
ies and other provisions to see us
through the 14-day quarantine.
Those two weeks, as we settle in
for the night, stretch out intermi-
nably before us. Will being seques-
tered in just one place — inside
this tiny, extremely rustic dwell-
ing — turn claustrophobic? Or
worse, be the setting for a Ste-
phen-King-like horror story?
Dawn breaks the next day
around 5 a.m. Maine’s northern
latitude translates into summer
days filled with roughly 16 hours
of daylight. How could all that
time possibly be filled? It’s a ques-
tion t hat occurs now only in retro-
spect. In the moment, just gazing
out the cabin windows at the
ocean seems enough, more than
enough, to fill the longest day.
Relaxing after a long drive doesn’t
MAINE FROM E17
Breathing in air, tuning out noise during Maine quarantine
ABOVE: A
lighthouse dots the
Maine coastline at
Pemaquid Point in
Bristol. The author
and his wife visited
a lobster shack for
an outdoor dinner
when their
quarantine ended.
BELOW: T he
author’s wife, Pat,
escapes their rustic
cabin f or some time
near the water.Vacation Rentals, Inns,
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