we're feeling a little tense these days, what with the coronavirus coming around knocking on our door. for days, new mexico had zero, but was surrounded by states that had several. then it had three, four, five, now six. all this has happened in a day or two. i am glued to the news as it changes by the minute.

new mexico has a proactive health machine. it set up a website; then it cancelled school sports programs. today it cancelled school for three weeks starting monday. our decision is whether to send them or yank them tomorrow. we're leaning toward yanking.

we have four in school: one in high school, two in middle school, one in elementary. the one in high school is valedictorian, but would be just as happy staying home the rest of the year. he doesn't like people anyway and in fact is nervous about college. going away? living with other people? fending for himself in an urban environment? this may be too much for him. given an excuse to stay home and play on the computer, he might take it and simply hole up, for the semester, or the year, or indefinitely.

the youngest one is crushed. she is very social and loves school. she wants to go tomorrow and will be heartbroken if it's closed, for a week, for three weeks, whatever. the two middleschoolers have mixed feelings.

a gentle rain has moved into the valley, so i took the youngest and quick planted some garlic out in the garden. the soil was rich and loamy. the greenthread was already coming up. when the rain picked up we had to come in, but we had already planted it, and that was good. the little green shoots were already about six inches; they had been growing in the shed. now they're in the earth; they'll be much happier.

national forest stretches out to the north for about a mile, 'til you come to the mescalero apache reservation. to the east, it's national forest on down to the wide open plains where the roswell incident happened. it's kind of scrubby, with a lot of juniper, but it's wide open: deer, snakes, and a few other kinds of animals are common. in our little canyon, there are eight or ten families, on roads that are connected to ours. it's a close-knit community. they support the local school. they wear the name of the mountain town on the front of their cars, where new mexico doesn't require a license plate.

most of the mountain people, however, are a little contemptuous of the coronavirus. they simply believe it's a hoax, or nothing to be worried about; maybe this is because they've been watching fox news. or it could be because we always stockpile food and consider the outside world to be a big vile disease in general. the outside world is a pestilence, a pandemic of its own.

i like coming back home after any time away, even if i've only been in the village, or the local town. i'm pretty sure the coronavirus hasn't been to either, but just in case, we're considering yanking the kids tomorrow: it's kind of a wasted day anyway, and we're nervous about exposing our kids to anyone. my wife is the most anxious. she figures we have enough excuse to yank them already, and shouldn't have to wait one more day of exposing them to everyone in town, a day of many extended hugs, a day when, if it's arrived, will be one day too many. they were going to go to a concert in town tomorrow. that concert was canceled, because of the coronavirus. they said: we'll have a party, by ourselves, in the school. that doesn't sound appealing either. except of course to the young one, who loves the social whirl so much. she'll be crushed.

my wife is sixty-two; i'm sixty-five. we are not incredibly high risk, as we are reasonably healthy. no high blood pressure, no heart drugs. my wife rides a horse regularly, and i garden and work around the place a lot. i saw wood and rake. there's lots of fresh air. when it rains, even a little, the pine forests smell glorious, and i don't ever want to go back to town.