Covid 19 in Dogpatch:

Don MacMillan used to refer to the area where they lived, on the north east edge of  Wakefield, as Dogpatch. Mela and Don now live in Britannia, on the west side of Ottawa, so I've started to refer to my neighbourhood at the bottom of East Hill in Vernon as Dogpatch. 

Of course neither of our neighbourhoods is as wholly lacking in redeeming qualities as Al Capp's hilarious original, but both have elements of, "an average stone-age community". 

Vernon is nestled among camel coloured hills. The people who live in my part of the 'holler' have irritated and entertained me since I joined them almost ten years ago. Behind me was John, an urban hermit who never went out his back door. I saw him twice. Both times because I went around to his front door to talk to him about property matters. Across the street was Joyce and her fluffy little dog. They mostly sat on her back porch or shuffled into the street to tell me a bit about the old days and the widower who planted the original creeping blue bells that I was trying to pull out and that continue to weave their tenacious roots through my front gardens. John and Joyce are both dead now. Their houses are lived in by young couples who are having babies, planting gardens, jumping on trampolines, tearing down fences and building sheds. 

Donna, the original next door neighbour with the 'issues', remains and so does the enormous Winnebago she hasn't been able to get into for over ten years. It has since been joined by the car she abandoned four years ago, parked behind it. She's always cheery, but I'm happy that I determined when I first met her that she would never get around to clearing up the area between our houses as she assured me she would. I immediately planted the cedar hedge which now almost completely blocks my view of her abandoned vehicles. She also has an old marmalade tomcat that has skulked around my yard killing birds for years. The couple that now lives in John's house with the baby, the trampoline, her young boy, and two dogs also have a tomcat, appropriately named Gunner. My yard is frequently the scene of shrieking cat fights between him and Donna's ancient marmalade.  Gunner wins, if the tufts of orange hair left behind are any indication. Their fights make me angry but my fury is moderated by the fact that Ryan, Gunner's owner is a very friendly guy who always calls, "Hi Jan,"when he sees me in the back yard and asks me questions about gardening. He even gave me a plant, hens and chickens, the other day. He laughingly refers to to the cat fights as 'Fight Club', and I laugh. I just wish Brad Pitt would step on the scene once in a while. The original harpy across the back and next door to Ryan is still in residence.  She's the one with the raucous laugh and foul tongue who upset me so such the first summer I was here that I had to devise a system of fans and CD players to shield my ears. Her loud harangues have become much less frequent over the years. The men, husband and son I think, who were the targets of her tongue and whom she frequently referred  to as, "a couple of fucking losers," seem to have left. Now I hardly hear her except for her daily coughing session from the  balcony most mornings around ten. Across the street is a pair of aging hippies, he has a straggly, grey ponytail and she wears loose fitting blouses and skirts. They sell things at a market and are always either loading or unloading one or other of their almost identical silver grey vans. Another addition to Dogpatch is a quiet young couple two doors down. They are urban back-to-the-landers. Their entire front yard is now a garden. She gave me many varieties of heritage tomatoes to try last summer. We always stop to chat when we pass each other's yards. The true joy of the neighbourhood is a family that moved in about four years ago. They live a few more doors down. He is Sam, a genuinely neighbourly person, and she is Mo, much more reserved but quietly friendly. They live with their two young girls and new baby girl in a tiny yellow house that she has redesigned on the inside. She studied carpentry and  her work is both creative and well finished. For three years now I have had dinners at their place on Christmas Eve and Mother's Day. 

These are the neighbours who keep me entertained in these days of quarantine, especially in the early evenings. Between 4:30 and 7:30pm, the young families go outside. Social distancing is maintained, of course, but kids at least see each other as they jump on the trampoline, walk, bike or scooter around the block. We have had wonderful weather this spring but not enough rain. I make a point of weeding or watering at this time so I can say hi to and watch my fellow residents of Dogpatch. 

The young woman across the street using the post hole auger, preparing to build a new fence. Usually she and her husband work together but he's not around today. 

Blake died on May 1. Jay told me that many friends have been talking about Blake these past days, sharing memories and pictures. He sent me some of the pictures. This is my favorite.