My first loaf of bread, the lockdown loaf By Catherine Watson
Saturday April 5
Chill Bill café has closed. Now my hairdresser. My cosy little world is disappearing. I email Lynne, my hairdresser: ”I'm looking forward to seeing how we’ll look in a couple of months when we're all cutting our own hair!” “Well I am hoping you won't look too amazing,” she responds.
I find half a packet of flour in my cupboard and make my first attempt at baking bread. It’s called a lockdown loaf and uses a stubby of beer instead of yeast. Takes about 5 minutes to mix and I bung it in the oven for 40 minutes. When it comes out I’m amazed. It actually looks like a loaf of bread. I cut a slice and slather it with butter. Delicious! I take a sample to Vilya, who promises to send me a review.
Saturday April 5
Chill Bill café has closed. Now my hairdresser. My cosy little world is disappearing. I email Lynne, my hairdresser: ”I'm looking forward to seeing how we’ll look in a couple of months when we're all cutting our own hair!” “Well I am hoping you won't look too amazing,” she responds.
I find half a packet of flour in my cupboard and make my first attempt at baking bread. It’s called a lockdown loaf and uses a stubby of beer instead of yeast. Takes about 5 minutes to mix and I bung it in the oven for 40 minutes. When it comes out I’m amazed. It actually looks like a loaf of bread. I cut a slice and slather it with butter. Delicious! I take a sample to Vilya, who promises to send me a review.
Monday April 6
“Was it your first attempt at bread making?” Vilya texts. “Wasn’t baked long enough and tasted quite bitter after chewing. Had to slice thick as it crumbled. Took ages to toast, with edges burning and middle not toasting. Still tasted odd. Maybe mixture too heavy?”
Etsuko delivers me a box of freshly picked produce – lettuce, silver beet, zucchini, tomatoes, radishes and passionfruit and a beautiful note.
Simon is out for a bike ride in Cowes when the police pull him over … for not wearing a helmet. He tells them he’s just on his way back from shopping. If they’d checked his saddle bags they would have found several bottles of wine.
Tuesday April 7
An email from a dear friend in New Zealand. Jill has lost the last of her freelance writing gigs. She tells me the latest casualty list of newspapers and magazines that have folded, and the journalists and photographers who have lost their jobs. Newspapers were already struggling. The lockdown is the death knell, each closure mourned by a community.
An old friend of ours has died. Phil would have expected a great wake full of laughter and stories. But there is no send-off, just a cremation with no one in attendance. His daughter emails friends to suggest they toast Phil with a tot of rum.
The council announces that all Bass Coast beaches will be closed over Easter. A slight complication: they announced the same thing two weeks ago but you could still go swimming, surfing, walking, running … This time they really mean it, apparently. The beaches will be patrolled and people will be fined!
Wednesday April 8
I ask the council whether the Easter beach closure applies to all beaches, including those managed by Parks Victoria. They promise to get back.
I see D in the street. “How are you going?” I ask with trepidation. D’s life swings between very high and very low. “Couldn’t be better,” she says. “This thing is bigger than all of us!” Her eyes are sparkling. After years of being a misfit, D is suddenly part of the zeitgeist.
Linda C calls in. Before her arrival I wipe the door handles in case she needs to go inside but we sit on the verandah. A cup of tea seems too complicated. Would I have to wear gloves and boil the cup? We walk around the back lanes instead, enjoying a glimpse into the private part of people’s lives.
Cate and I take the dogs for a late afternoon walk at Harmers. It’s a kind of farewell to the beaches before the Easter closure. My dog Matilda is ecstatic, running full pelt between us, swerving at the last minute. Until she misjudges and knocks Cate flying. Cate hobbles to the car. Her ankle is throbbing.
Thursday April 9
No response from the council about whether Parks Victoria beaches are open. I send another query. The head of communications calls me. He doesn’t answer my question directly. He talks about “consistency of messaging” and the greater good. He is critical of “people looking for loopholes”. It seems our council is misleading us “for our own good”, and I’m being pressured to go along with it.
Good Friday April 10
Late afternoon, during a break in the weather, I take Matilda for a walk in the reserve next door. It’s cold and gloomy, which suits my mood. In a clearing, I meet another dog walker and we stop to let the dogs sniff each other’s bums. The woman, a stranger, tells me she heard that a single person in China infected 900 people. She’s off on a rant. I can’t get a word in to say I’ve got to go. I return feeling aggrieved, but Matilda enjoyed the walk and bum-sniffing.
“Was it your first attempt at bread making?” Vilya texts. “Wasn’t baked long enough and tasted quite bitter after chewing. Had to slice thick as it crumbled. Took ages to toast, with edges burning and middle not toasting. Still tasted odd. Maybe mixture too heavy?”
Etsuko delivers me a box of freshly picked produce – lettuce, silver beet, zucchini, tomatoes, radishes and passionfruit and a beautiful note.
Simon is out for a bike ride in Cowes when the police pull him over … for not wearing a helmet. He tells them he’s just on his way back from shopping. If they’d checked his saddle bags they would have found several bottles of wine.
Tuesday April 7
An email from a dear friend in New Zealand. Jill has lost the last of her freelance writing gigs. She tells me the latest casualty list of newspapers and magazines that have folded, and the journalists and photographers who have lost their jobs. Newspapers were already struggling. The lockdown is the death knell, each closure mourned by a community.
An old friend of ours has died. Phil would have expected a great wake full of laughter and stories. But there is no send-off, just a cremation with no one in attendance. His daughter emails friends to suggest they toast Phil with a tot of rum.
The council announces that all Bass Coast beaches will be closed over Easter. A slight complication: they announced the same thing two weeks ago but you could still go swimming, surfing, walking, running … This time they really mean it, apparently. The beaches will be patrolled and people will be fined!
Wednesday April 8
I ask the council whether the Easter beach closure applies to all beaches, including those managed by Parks Victoria. They promise to get back.
I see D in the street. “How are you going?” I ask with trepidation. D’s life swings between very high and very low. “Couldn’t be better,” she says. “This thing is bigger than all of us!” Her eyes are sparkling. After years of being a misfit, D is suddenly part of the zeitgeist.
Linda C calls in. Before her arrival I wipe the door handles in case she needs to go inside but we sit on the verandah. A cup of tea seems too complicated. Would I have to wear gloves and boil the cup? We walk around the back lanes instead, enjoying a glimpse into the private part of people’s lives.
Cate and I take the dogs for a late afternoon walk at Harmers. It’s a kind of farewell to the beaches before the Easter closure. My dog Matilda is ecstatic, running full pelt between us, swerving at the last minute. Until she misjudges and knocks Cate flying. Cate hobbles to the car. Her ankle is throbbing.
Thursday April 9
No response from the council about whether Parks Victoria beaches are open. I send another query. The head of communications calls me. He doesn’t answer my question directly. He talks about “consistency of messaging” and the greater good. He is critical of “people looking for loopholes”. It seems our council is misleading us “for our own good”, and I’m being pressured to go along with it.
Good Friday April 10
Late afternoon, during a break in the weather, I take Matilda for a walk in the reserve next door. It’s cold and gloomy, which suits my mood. In a clearing, I meet another dog walker and we stop to let the dogs sniff each other’s bums. The woman, a stranger, tells me she heard that a single person in China infected 900 people. She’s off on a rant. I can’t get a word in to say I’ve got to go. I return feeling aggrieved, but Matilda enjoyed the walk and bum-sniffing.
Cartoon by Natasha Williams-Novak
Saturday April 11
I hear a radio segment about a woman who’s sewing hearts out of felt and giving them to people for comfort. Apparently it’s become a global “thing”. The sewers are called hearties. I ring my friend Linda G to ask if she’d like me to make her a felt heart. “F… off!” she says, or words to that effect.
Ange, out for a walk with her husband in a near empty town: “I don’t mind this at all!”
Sunday April 12
By my calculations there are 10 people offering help for every one person needing help. The poor old people are besieged by people pleading to shop and cook for them. Not being on Facebook, the oldies are still reasonably sane and quite content to lounge around reading books, drinking cups of tea, eating shortbread and talking to the cat. They huddle in their houses wondering if they can go out for a walk without being propositioned.
I do my best to lift morale by accepting everything from everybody: tomatoes, toilet paper, delicious late peaches, German apple cake, quinces, passionfruit, seedlings … Thank you!
Monday April 13
An email from Jill. “I have often wondered what this modern thing ‘mindfulness’ is - I suspect home detention has provided me with the answer. My long walks and hours in the garden (far too cold and windy to be outside today) have taught me how to empty my mind of Lord alone knows what crap it contains ...”
Darren is caring for his mother, Julie, and two energetic sons, Josh, 5, and Toby, 2. Julie’s health problems put her at severe risk of infection so Darren is keeping the boys apart. He’s converted the small back garden to a kind of camping ground with an outside shower, a blow-up paddling pool and a portaloo. The boys love the whole set-up, especially the portaloo. They wee 20 times a day, with great hilarity.
Tuesday April 14
Victoria has been working in the city but has returned for the duration and now works from her sunny verandah. She makes all her calls in the morning then goes out for a walk. She reckons the crisis will be good for humanity, make them question their lives. “It’s too hard to deal with when you’re busy. You’re too busy chasing your tail. It’s good for humanity to realise you don’t need so much. It’s nice to see people in the parks. You see them engaging with one another. It’s an opportunity to be inventive.”
The crisis has also led to another realisation: Wonthaggi is home. “I just want to come home to Wonthaggi now.”
Norma has been laid off from her chef’s job but is well equipped mentally for a lockdown. On her days off work she likes to shut out the world and binge on TV. I assume the lockdown is blissful for her but she tells me she is too stressed by financial worries to enjoy it. She is still waiting to hear whether she will receive the JobKeeper payment. She has a mortgage and bills to pay.
Wednesday April 15
Vilya brings me over a bowl of silver beet and lemon soup. I invite her to sit on the verandah but she’s on edge. “What is it?” I ask. “I don’t know,” she says. “It’s everything.” She is near tears and it’s all I can do not to give her a hug. It sounds like depression but we agree it can’t be because she’s just back from a long walk (thank god for dogs) and hasn’t lost her famous appetite.
I ask Linda C what she misses most. “Time with the grandkid,” she says. They tried Facetime but Ella (two) wasn’t interested. A month – or two, three or even six – is a long time in a two-year-old’s life. They’ll have to rebuild their relationship when this is over. On the plus side, her husband Terry is getting into a groove working from home instead of catching the bus to Cranbourne each day.
Thursday April 16
An email from Karen. “I am home schooling the kids and working from home, and it’s a bit crazy. Let’s just say I am going through a lot of wine.”
Cate’s “sprained ankle” has been belatedly diagnosed as a fractured foot and she has to wear a moon boot for six weeks. I visit to collect her dogs and take them for a walk. It’s the least I can do since Matilda caused the damage. When Cate started working from home two weeks ago she was determined to maintain standards: no slippers and trackies, she would stick to formal office attire and regular work hours. Today, she is wearing a thick cardigan and leggings and there is a freshly baked loaf on the bench. She has found her groove too.
Friday April 17
Frank thinks the clear skies over Beijing are the dawn of a new era. Victoria thinks people are discovering they don’t need a lot of stuff to be happy. John C sees a resurgence of civil society. David sees a revival of the neighbourhood.
The big question: what is temporary and what is permanent?
The small question: has anyone seen any wholemeal flour?
I hear a radio segment about a woman who’s sewing hearts out of felt and giving them to people for comfort. Apparently it’s become a global “thing”. The sewers are called hearties. I ring my friend Linda G to ask if she’d like me to make her a felt heart. “F… off!” she says, or words to that effect.
Ange, out for a walk with her husband in a near empty town: “I don’t mind this at all!”
Sunday April 12
By my calculations there are 10 people offering help for every one person needing help. The poor old people are besieged by people pleading to shop and cook for them. Not being on Facebook, the oldies are still reasonably sane and quite content to lounge around reading books, drinking cups of tea, eating shortbread and talking to the cat. They huddle in their houses wondering if they can go out for a walk without being propositioned.
I do my best to lift morale by accepting everything from everybody: tomatoes, toilet paper, delicious late peaches, German apple cake, quinces, passionfruit, seedlings … Thank you!
Monday April 13
An email from Jill. “I have often wondered what this modern thing ‘mindfulness’ is - I suspect home detention has provided me with the answer. My long walks and hours in the garden (far too cold and windy to be outside today) have taught me how to empty my mind of Lord alone knows what crap it contains ...”
Darren is caring for his mother, Julie, and two energetic sons, Josh, 5, and Toby, 2. Julie’s health problems put her at severe risk of infection so Darren is keeping the boys apart. He’s converted the small back garden to a kind of camping ground with an outside shower, a blow-up paddling pool and a portaloo. The boys love the whole set-up, especially the portaloo. They wee 20 times a day, with great hilarity.
Tuesday April 14
Victoria has been working in the city but has returned for the duration and now works from her sunny verandah. She makes all her calls in the morning then goes out for a walk. She reckons the crisis will be good for humanity, make them question their lives. “It’s too hard to deal with when you’re busy. You’re too busy chasing your tail. It’s good for humanity to realise you don’t need so much. It’s nice to see people in the parks. You see them engaging with one another. It’s an opportunity to be inventive.”
The crisis has also led to another realisation: Wonthaggi is home. “I just want to come home to Wonthaggi now.”
Norma has been laid off from her chef’s job but is well equipped mentally for a lockdown. On her days off work she likes to shut out the world and binge on TV. I assume the lockdown is blissful for her but she tells me she is too stressed by financial worries to enjoy it. She is still waiting to hear whether she will receive the JobKeeper payment. She has a mortgage and bills to pay.
Wednesday April 15
Vilya brings me over a bowl of silver beet and lemon soup. I invite her to sit on the verandah but she’s on edge. “What is it?” I ask. “I don’t know,” she says. “It’s everything.” She is near tears and it’s all I can do not to give her a hug. It sounds like depression but we agree it can’t be because she’s just back from a long walk (thank god for dogs) and hasn’t lost her famous appetite.
I ask Linda C what she misses most. “Time with the grandkid,” she says. They tried Facetime but Ella (two) wasn’t interested. A month – or two, three or even six – is a long time in a two-year-old’s life. They’ll have to rebuild their relationship when this is over. On the plus side, her husband Terry is getting into a groove working from home instead of catching the bus to Cranbourne each day.
Thursday April 16
An email from Karen. “I am home schooling the kids and working from home, and it’s a bit crazy. Let’s just say I am going through a lot of wine.”
Cate’s “sprained ankle” has been belatedly diagnosed as a fractured foot and she has to wear a moon boot for six weeks. I visit to collect her dogs and take them for a walk. It’s the least I can do since Matilda caused the damage. When Cate started working from home two weeks ago she was determined to maintain standards: no slippers and trackies, she would stick to formal office attire and regular work hours. Today, she is wearing a thick cardigan and leggings and there is a freshly baked loaf on the bench. She has found her groove too.
Friday April 17
Frank thinks the clear skies over Beijing are the dawn of a new era. Victoria thinks people are discovering they don’t need a lot of stuff to be happy. John C sees a resurgence of civil society. David sees a revival of the neighbourhood.
The big question: what is temporary and what is permanent?
The small question: has anyone seen any wholemeal flour?