Starting in 2005, my sister Sally took over a small farm in northern Maryland, part of an inheritance from our parents. Sally had never farmed full-time before. Her lifelong interest in gardening was scant preparation for this late-middle-age career transition from more sedentary work. Especially the first few years, Sally struggled. She wanted to run the farm as a biodynamic one, paying special attention to the cycles of seasons, sun, and moon. Gradually, she got an acre or two into biodynamic production. She rented the rest of the land to nearby more conventional farmers. She built up a cadre of part-time volunteers. Her work was more than full-time, with scant occasions for the travel she had enjoyed earlier in her varied careers. Her internet access was spotty at best, so we kept in touch through phone calls and letters.
For a biodynamic farmer, “cross-quarter days” are especially important in deciding harvest and planting schedules: Halloween (Samhain), Groundhog Day (Imbolc), May Day (Beltane), and mid-summer, around August 1 (Lammas).
This November, I’m posting six years’ worth of cross-quarter day letters, through multiple changes in government, a global pandemic, and major changes in our respective personal circumstances. Please read along…
Saturday, October 31, 2020 (Samhain/Hallowe’en); from Jinny, in Cary, NC, to Sally, in Taneytown, MD
Dear Sal,
My last shift as a nonpartisan early voting poll worker for this year’s national election is finally over. I’m worn out. The stresses of trying to help keep myself, my coworkers, and voters as safe as practical during a pandemic competed with the excitement of participating in a historic electoral contest. I’d previously worked in both the primary and general elections in Wake County, North Carolina in 2018, and then in the primary election here in 2020, held just before covid changed our elections and our lives.
As the 2020 general election season approached, local boards of election throughout North Carolina (and elsewhere) worried about having an adequate staff of poll workers—many poll workers trend older and would thus be more vulnerable to covid and its complications. Boards of Election officials lost sleep over staff retention, staff training, and staff safety. In Wake County where I live, media ran lots of public service announcements seeking temporary poll workers. Our early voting site was fortunate that over half our primary cycle’s workers signed up again, even one fortyish former basketball center who was still on a waiting list for a heart transplant.
Before voting started, we had a full day of general, then on-site training. We had enough experienced workers to integrate the “newbies” quickly. Turnout was not too heavy for the first few days; by the time we started to get really busy, we worked together well. We typically rotated among different tasks—greeters, voter check-in (with access to offline computerized county voter rolls), voting booth assistants, help desk workers, ballot box assistants, and a shift supervisor. We had remote access to a county-wide “help line” via secure telephone.
Because of the pandemic, the voting site, though in the same Student Center at North Carolina State University where I’d worked the primary, had been shifted to a larger room with more space and better ventilation. A couple dozen of us were assigned to a site in one of the large ballrooms at the student center. Early voting started on Thursday, October 15 and ran through today, before an interval to prepare for Election Day next Tuesday. Officials at our site moved Chris, our former basketball star, to a “help desk” station that involved the least direct contact with large numbers of early voters.
Each morning before the polls opened, a designated worker placed a half gallon pump spray bottle of hand sanitizer on a stand at the entrance to the ballroom. Someone regularly refilled the bottle so there was always enough sanitizer for anyone who wanted it. We also had boxes of the pale blue face masks you see people wearing in hospitals.
Due to extended early voting hours and to minimize worker risks, there were two shifts. I chose the earlier one, carpooling with a neighbor to arrive at the site at least half an hour before the first voters began to check in. Each morning, we got disposable plastic gloves, hospital-style face masks, and individual plastic face shields to minimize our chances of viral infection. No one is sure yet exactly how infection spreads, so we were cautious. Poll workers regularly wiped down and sanitized voting booths. I was impressed with how much “PPE” (personal protective equipment) our county election officials had been able to obtain and distribute in the months since the pandemic’s start.
Each shift got short breaks and one longer meal break, with about an hour’s overlap between the two shifts. Nearly everyone packed snacks and a lunch–area restaurants and snack bars were either closed or “take out only.” As far as I know, none of our workers got covid. Some of the time, the weather was pleasant enough to go outdoors on breaks.
Over the 17 days of early voting, we’d get the occasional “in your face” voter. He (or more rarely she) would deliberately come to the voting site without a mask and refuse the offer of one at the entrance. Once he/she reached the check-in station, they’d lean far forward over the voter check-in table, spit out their name and address, and then smirk, as if to say “I dare you to tell me I’m being inconsiderate.” Because we were on a college campus, we had lots of younger voters. They were among my favorites, providing a vicarious thrill through their excitement at casting their first ballot. I saw a lot of “NC State” themed face masks on voters of all ages. I only processed a couple of people I knew—one a member of a Cary discussion group gone dormant due to the pandemic, another a local cousin. I’m glad I had a chance to participate. I’m very relieved that neither I nor any of my coworkers got sick.
With so much up in the air because of the pandemic, our procedures adapted a couple of times during the voting period to improve safety and convenience. As far as I could tell, everyone who came through “my” line while I was processing voters was legitimate. Turnout was very high. The numerous state and local races provided additional motivation for people to show up. (Also, just maybe, because of the pandemic, there were a lot fewer other choices of how to spend your time?) Many people this cycle voted by mail, with the number of mail-in ballots increasing several fold from prior, non-covid cycles. Once the initial tallies of election results are done, I plan to write up a blog post about my experiences and the overall effort here in Wake County. This may be more information than you need, but I hope to convey both the tension and the excitement of seeing a part of the 2020 general election from a front row seat.
When not “working the polls,” I’ve been doing as much outdoor activity as I can. It helps ground me, keeps me healthier, and also, I think, helps make our immediate vicinity more appealing. I’ve raked lots and lots of leaves throughout our condo complex. I’ve cleared most walkways and lawns, then carted the leaves to a wooded area nearby. I also planted a couple of cold-season perennials in the small area behind our condo—a euphorbia (“spurge”) and a hellebore (“Lenten rose”). If I’ve done my research correctly, both are deer-resistant, in contrast with the hostas I tried earlier that seem to have become “deer snacks.”
Indoors, our condo is generally cleaner than normal for this time of year, except for a repurposed section of our kitchen table. Using a sewing machine borrowed from a neighbor, I’ve been sewing batches of multi-layer cloth face masks out of scraps left over from other sewing projects plus donations from friends. A member of our church coordinates efforts to distribute these via other church and civic groups to “essential workers.” These folks continue to provide us with groceries, health care, and other services despite their higher risks and often lower access to sources of protective gear. I’ve done about 30 sturdy masks so far.
I’m taking a socially distanced quilting class and am working on small “quilt-lets” for the grandkids. Neither is likely to be as distinctive as the animal-themed quilts you sewed decades ago for Jason and Scott. Think you mentioned in our latest phone call that the farm had had an early frost. Hope you’re enjoying a somewhat slower pace now that much of the harvest is finished. Will stop here. Please take good care!
Love, Jin
(See “A Post-Election Day View,” on jinnyoccasionalpoems.com for Wake County 2020 preliminary voting totals, put onto blog on November 9, 2020).
