Pre-dawn light along the state park trail on July 7, 2025.
On June 27, 2020, I predicted, “Eventually I will snap out of this coronavirus funk.” Five years later, I’m no longer sure of that.
We wanted the pandemic to be over. Governor Kim Reynolds said as much when she proclaimed,
“We cannot continue to suspend duly enacted laws and treat COVID-19 as a public health emergency indefinitely. After two years, it’s no longer feasible or necessary. The flu and other infectious illnesses are part of our everyday lives, and coronavirus can be managed similarly,” stated Gov. Reynolds. “State agencies will now manage COVID-19 as part of normal daily business, and reallocate resources that have been solely dedicated to the response effort to serve other important needs for Iowans.” (Governor Kim Reynolds Press Release, Feb. 2, 2022).
Looking back on these five years, the pandemic broke us as a society. The pieces won’t fit back together and dark forces have taken us new, unpredictable directions which were unknowable before the outbreak. We must go on living, yet with a palpable sense of loss. I don’t like it, yet am at a turning point, where I must adapt to this life by living with loss. Not unlike the way people were affected by the Great Depression. I am not ready to stop living.
If we concede Governor Reynolds’ point, that the coronavirus pandemic is over, what was lost during that time?
People who were close to me died of COVID-19. Both close geographically, and with a long personal history together. They are permanently gone. Many more contracted the virus and were quite sick with it. Some still wear protective masks in public. I contracted the virus in August 2024 and thought I would die of it. Obviously, the pandemic was not over in 2024. It’s not over yet.
As we sheltered in place for months, then years, the outside world diminished in importance. What mattered more was what we did within the confines of our home, family, and property. What I didn’t understand in the early days of the pandemic was those outside activities would not come back with resilience. Trips off property became controlled and specific. There was no time for extras which were rubbed out by the virus.
For me, the pandemic coincided with leaving paid outside work and retiring. I had claimed Social Security as soon as I reached full retirement age in 2018. Loss of extra income from multiple jobs did not put us in the poor house, yet there were financial constraints on what I could do. I had never been on such a tight budget before. Being close on funds changes a person.
So now there is today. What shall I do with it? That question was there before the pandemic, even if I ignored seriously answering it. With the extras stripped away from life, there seems little else to do but work toward an answer. And so, for as long as I take breath, I shall.
It begins with harvesting cucumbers, squash, fennel, kale, and collards, and donating the excess to the food pantries on Monday and Tuesday. Where life goes from there is a blank page in an open book, waiting for us to write the future.
Donation to community food pantry on July 7, 2025.
The gutter clogged during a Saturday afternoon rainstorm. I looked at the forecast and rain was expected, on and off, for the next six hours. I decided to get the extension ladder and climb on the roof to clear the blockage so water wouldn’t overflow into the lower level of the house. I waited until the driveway showed signs of drying and went outside. Even though a misty-feeling drizzle hit my face, I persisted. From the time I got the ladder down until I returned it to its rack was less than 15 minutes. At 73 years, I should limit my time on the roof, yet the problem was immediate, the consequences of doing nothing were unacceptable. The situation wants a permanent solution.
I had a fitful night’s sleep the evening of July 4. Community fireworks were scheduled for July 5, so that didn’t keep me awake. News of the administration’s budget reconciliation was likely at the heart of my restlessness. That, with the courts enabling parts of their agenda. It’s as if every good public work I have done since graduating high school is being undone. It’s intentional, so my restlessness is not without reason.
Today there will be a decent harvest for the food pantry. Yellow squash, cucumbers, and leafy green vegetables, for sure. When the sun rises, I’ll take my daily walk on the state park trail and get into the garden. With the rain, the garden is really producing, to the benefit of our household and some who are food insecure.
Rain has consequences, both challenging and positive. A summer rainstorm provides opportunities to improve our lives, if we are open to seeing them.
Here are some of the best shots from the first days of summer 2025:
Young Oak Tree LeavesSummer light.Trail flowers.Exiting the canopy into the light.Cloud formation.Light on cluster of trees.Sidewalk flowers in Skokie, Ill.Dill pickles.
Pre-dawn light on the state park trail on July 2, 2025.
Ours is a small family. The size influences how we celebrate holidays, which is less often as we age. When I was younger, it was very Polish of me to want each holiday to be a special occasion. In the rural Minnesota community where my forebear Maciej Nadolski settled, holiday celebrations were well-organized, especially Easter and Christmas. In some cases, a procession developed on the outlying Polish farms and grew as it visited each of scores of farmsteads enroute to town. It meandered through the countryside, collecting people from their homes, and ended at the church they built when the land was deeded from the railroad. All that pageantry has gotten sanded off in the wood shed of time. Also, there are automobiles now.
Independence Day falls into the category of “day off work.” When I was in the paid workforce, I most often had to work on the holiday. We sometimes watched organized fireworks displays. When I was more active in politics and had the day off, I traveled several miles north to Ely and walked with the Democrats in their city’s Independence Day parade. I haven’t done either of those things in a long time.
The big Independence Day, in 1976, I was on leave from the military and spent the day at Mother’s house. Because I hadn’t known in advance I would return home for the holiday, I had no plans. It didn’t bother me, either. I was doing my duty to serve the country. If folks wanted to celebrate signing the document, that was fine with me.
Next year is the 250th anniversary of signing the Declaration of Independence. The president came to Iowa yesterday to kick off his celebration. I’m not aware of the plans the way I was for the bicentennial. However, it seems like the kind of broad, inclusive planning that took place in 1976 is missing for 2026. Apparently our president will be telling us what to do. No thank you.
This year on the holiday I will put the garage door up and hang my American flag above it. Beyond that, I’m not sure what I will do, except go on living. Maybe for old times sake, I’ll get a copy of the Declaration of Independence and read it.
Our child asked for an authentic copy of the Declaration of Independence for their bug-out bag so I gave them mine. It is not really American to need a bug-out bag, yet here we are, after almost 250 years. Hopefully we can mind our own business and no one will come after us. If they do, we must be ready.
The heat and humidity backed off, making Tuesday a pleasant summer day. Ambient temperature got up to the mid eighties, yet a lack of high humidity made everything outdoors tolerable. I spent a good amount of time there.
Like many, I’m not happy the U.S. Senate passed the budget reconciliation bill. It apparantly came down to Alaska’s Senator Lisa Murkowski who, fearing retribution for a no vote, changed her mind and provided the 50th yes vote. That enabled the vice president to break the tie and deliver a win for Republicans. It is now up to the House to concur… or do what they will.
There is a lot to deal with. Senator Adam Schiff pointed this out in the bill:
If it passes, this will be a setback for environmental quality. Many environmental advocates may feel like the U.S. is back to square one. Me? I can’t give up.
For now, we have perfect summer weather. For how long is hard to say.
Fennel, Pac Choi, and kale donated to the local food pantry on June 30, 2025.
I like to have more than one thing to do when I drive the two miles to town. The more I multi-task my trips to the City of Solon, the more value I find in it. It began with gambling.
Almost always, I buy a Powerball ticket. The social aspect of walking into a convenience store and saying to the clerk, “I’d like the usual,” resonates from when I lived in Europe. It is a closely knit relationship even if we don’t know each other except for this recurring transaction. It is something positive in what can be a difficult world.
On Mondays I harvest the garden and split the best-looking produce into separate crates for the food pantry. I delay picking greens until Monday so there is usually a good amount for our kitchen and to share. Yesterday it was Pac Choi, a bulb of fennel with the fronds attached, and two kinds of kale. I enjoy putting together a pleasing display and then pack the car and speak with the receiver until the produce is transferred to the food pantry shelves. Today’s weight was five pounds, which doesn’t seem like much. The value of the transaction is the good it does. My sense is food pantry patrons could use more fresh produce.
I had reserved a book at the library early in the morning. I decided since I was in town, why make a trip later to get it. I walked into the library, found our librarian, and told her I decided to just stop by and pick it up myself rather than go through the reserve process. She was kind enough to find the book on the shelf and process me without delay. Now I won’t run out of reading material over the Independence Day holiday… not that that is a possibility in our house. Having relationships with a local library and the people who work there is the stuff of which society is made.
When I was working for an employer these social interactions pretty well stopped. I don’t know why, but there are better possibilities for a well lived life simply by living one. It can be hard, yet we must learn to deal with the concerns in society and go on living. Part of that means going to town on a Monday morning and spend time with my usuals.
We are at the place in summer where every day some new plant stands out along the state park trail. The flowers are particularly familiar. They provide assurance there is a world outside human endeavor that persists and blooms.
It is another hot Sunday afternoon as I write, with the heat index approaching 100 degrees Fahrenheit. To play it safe, I did outdoors work this morning then headed inside. It never really cooled off overnight and the ambient temperature was in the 80s by 9 a.m. For a change, I got through my digital and physical inboxes and accomplished a few non-garden related tasks.
The news from Washington, D.C. is grim. It looks like the U.S. Senate will pass their version of the reconciliation bill later on Monday. There is no way to describe it other than a theft from the less well off to benefit the wealthiest in their gilded enclaves. The absurd budget cuts being made, combined with running up the national debt, could transform the United States into something unrecognizable.
I am aware nothing is permanent in politics. I am also aware of the 1890s Gilded Age and the comparison with what’s going on today. I don’t see anyone like Theodore Roosevelt coming along with a square deal for all of us. The absence of moral courage among so many is what makes today so grim.
I haven’t given up hope. I continue to do what I can to make the world a better place, beginning with a garden harvest today, some of which will go to the local food pantry. We must be brilliant like the wild bergamot that yesterday made its first appearance of the year on the trail. Reaching for the sky we display our color unabashedly. Belying the many uses to which we can be put once our blooms finish.
It is a hard tonic to swallow that the wealthy are gathering up the produce of our lives. We shall, however, persevere… and return next year.
U.S. Capitol. Photo by Trev W. Adams on Pexels.com
I wrote Senators Grassley and Ernst to advocate for their NO vote on the One Big Beautiful Bill Act. The legislation is expected to come up for a vote in the U.S. Senate today. Here’s what I messaged them:
I’ll be brief. I’ve been following the reconciliation bill’s progress in the U.S. Senate and nothing that has changed in the bill to change my mind that it should be rejected out of hand. Two main reasons: The Congressional Budget Office now indicates the bill would increase the federal debt by more than $3.3 trillion over the next ten years. Changes to Medicaid would result in millions of people losing their health care because of withdrawal of federal financial support. Neither of these outcomes is wanted. Vote NO on The One Big Beautiful Bill Act. Thank you for considering my message.
The year is half done and it’s time to check the compass to see if I’m heading the right direction. Maps will be required, so I got out some of my favorite ones and considered where I’ve been and where I might go from here at mid-year. This process isn’t really scientific.
I know the region of Fulda, Germany as well as I know Big Grove Township, probably better. Getting out the same old maps is comforting… a reprise of what is possible in a life. It’s a fit thing to do on a Saturday as June ends and the days get shorter. It is easier to chart a course by knowing where we’ve been.
Saturday mornings do not mean the same thing they did. When I was a grader, Saturday meant taking the city bus to downtown, paying my newspaper bill, and eating at the automat in the department store or at the Woolworth’s lunch counter. I often hung out until the movie theaters opened for a 25-cent matinee. It was an outrage when the price increased to 35, then 50 cents. At university, Saturdays meant time to catch up on studies and enjoy the quiet while everyone else attended a home sporting event. After university, as I entered the work force, Saturdays were a time to relax for a few hours before heading into a work place. I rarely worked only five days in a week, especially in the military and after beginning work in transportation and logistics. When I retired, it got increasingly difficult to tell one day from the other without looking at a calendar. The meaning of Saturdays eroded, although hope for meaning persists.
This Saturday morning began with a restless night. I woke just after midnight and finished reading the current book. I couldn’t get back to sleep so I got up just before 2 a.m., did my exercises, and made coffee to start my day. I finished my to-do list, made refrigerator pickles with yesterday’s harvest, and then went back to bed just before dawn. After a couple hours sleep, I got up again, turned the coffee warmer back on and went for my normal daily hike along the state park trail. There were a lot of people on the trail, dressed in brightly colored workout clothing. While I didn’t know many of them, it felt like being part of a community. The only ones who did not say “hi” back were men with earbuds distracted from nature’s beautiful morning.
It was going to be another hot afternoon, so I got to work soon after arriving back home. I changed into my overalls and mowed the ditch, which likely burned more calories than the trail hike. I worked for a while in the garden and then headed inside to take a shower and got out my compass.
Writing. I’m back to work on the second volume of my autobiography. The main task is to set aside a couple of daily hours for new research and writing. When we moved to Big Grove Township, our child was eight. I’m enjoying reconstruction of what our lives together were like during the time before they entered college. This part is pleasurable to remember and write about.
Reading. I read 43 books in the first six months. This year is different in that I am interfacing more with the public library. In addition to saving money on buying books, the range of my reading increased. The public library makes it easy to see what new books are being shelved, and the wait-time to borrow a copy of something in which I find interest is usually short. I even recommended a couple of books for purchase and without exception, the library did buy them. I hope there will be more of that ahead.
As owner of thousands of books, there are already plenty of them in the house to read. My best hope is to find work related to my autobiography and put them at the front of the reading queue. Part of me wants a process for picking the next book. Part of me wants to leave the choice full of whimsy and spontaneity.
Physical Condition. Improving my physical condition is a must. I lost 20 pounds of weight since January 1, and according to the doctor I need to lose a lot more. 30 minutes of brisk daily walking has been good. Working in the garden has also been positive. When the garden season began, I could hardly get up from being down on my knees. Now, I don’t even think about it and get right up when I am finished with something. The key changes this year were the increased physical activity combined with tracking how much I eat in an application. There are issues with the app, but it does help me stay focused on what I am feeding myself. The result has been a slow, steady weight loss since I began using it. I don’t see anything changing in the next six months. If I continue as I have been doing I could reach target weight before the end of the year.
Kitchen Garden. In addition to making vegetable broth, pesto and pickles, I’m looking to stock the pantry and freezer with produce I grow myself. This year looks to be a big apple year, so I need to save energy to process and stock up on related products. Garden abundance will guide my efforts here. I need to go with the flow.
Working in the Garage. Working on the Indiana section of my autobiography has me reprising this activity. I put the flag up over the garage door and work outside with creative impulse, modeled on what I did in Indiana when our child was living at home and entering school. It’s not the same as then, yet it is a form of nostalgia in which I am not afraid to indulge. More of that in the coming months. In many ways, it reflects who I am.
Curating Artifacts. It is incumbent on septuagenarians to cull the good from the not so good as far as souvenirs, photographs, books, clothing, tools, supplies, and everything else accumulated in a lifetime so those left when we pass on don’t have to deal with them. I admire Mother for doing this in the final years of her life. The photographs are the hard part. Spending time with a batch of 50 images should take ten minutes or less. Invariably it can turn into a several hour project because of the way memory is invoked. If I did one thing in the rest of 2025, it would be to develop a process that allows memories to arise from the well of lived human experience, and then find a different home for 90 percent of my artifacts. That merits some time.
Financial Stability. We depend on pensions and there is a known problem with Social Security. I wrote about this in 2017, and while the date changes along with the program, politicians have not done much to address this gap, then forecast in 2034. The Congress should address this now, although there is little visible interest in doing so. Senators like Elizabeth Warren and Bernie Sanders have a plan. The Congress needs to take the issue up and fix the program. That or tell us to get screwed now.
As Saturday morning turned to afternoon I felt recovered from a restless night. For the time being I can afford health care and medical visits, improve my eating habits, and get on with my writing. In many ways, the second volume of my autobiography will be the high water mark. Once I finish writing it, I plan to edit both books for publication and get them out there as ebooks and paper books, using one of the services. I know the way to accomplish this, so I can put away my maps until needed again. I’m not ready to get rid of them.
Before dawn it was 78 degrees Fahrenheit. I went for a hike before the sun came up and beat the daytime heat. It will be the kind of heat they were talking about in the Bible… namely, Hell. A couple groups of joggers were out with me, one running by flashlight. We locals often have the same ideas if there are different interpretations of illumination.
I went to the clinic for a blood test this morning. A technician was working on the entryway. Looked like he was installing a new security system. He asked, “How are you?” I responded, “That depends upon what the doctor says.” Well… he left himself open to that old-time joke.
The university remodeled the waiting room. They removed almost everything except the seats, replaced those and increased the capacity to 13. They included two double-wides, not that anyone in our area needs one of those. They must have high hopes. That or standard practices that make no sense out in the country. I noted they made me wear a wrist band. Not like I would get mixed up with anyone else at my early morning appointment. They did use it to scan me after the blood was drawn.
When I was checking out, the person at the window said my current physician is moving to Coralville. Did I want to follow him, they asked? I said I wanted to continue to visit the local clinic, where I have been going since 1993. They changed my appointment to be with the new practitioner. I should have asked whether it was a physician or some other type. Guess it doesn’t matter for my kind of common maladies.
I made a list of outdoors work for after the clinic, but the only thing I did was spray the cruciferous vegetable patch with DiPel which is made of bacillus thuringiensis, a common pesticide used by organic growers. Everything else will have to wait until the heat wave moves on. According to our post-DOGE weather report, it looks like it is heading east and we may break loose by tomorrow. Who knows, though.
Importantly, I have returned to writing. I wrote a chapter with a career update, then turned to my real interest: remembering our time as a family when we moved from Indiana to Big Grove Township. I can tell it will be a good summer for writing.
Journey Home 
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