Two years ago, on the first Sunday of March break, I thought that delaying the return to school for two weeks made sense. Two weeks would give those who traveled time to isolate on their return. A parent at church said to me that she doubted that the kids would return to the classroom until September. I was surprised and doubtful. As we know, she was right.

Attendance at the first service was thin, the first clue that people were concerned the pandemic was close. I blithely said that until there were cases within an hour of us, it was likely safe to meet in person. I did also quote the chief medical officer of health as saying that the right decision today may not be the right decision tomorrow.

At the second service, everyone who usually came was there. After church, a man told me that he'd been talking with someone at the grocery store who said that her son was spending the day with his friend who had just gotten back from a student exchange in Spain. "I felt myself backing away from her," the man said. I felt an urge to back away from him. Spain was in the midst of a huge outbreak. The youth could have brought Covid here. I started to rethink my decision to have in person services.

That afternoon, the local news announced that a couple who had been on a cruise had tested positive, and a man who had been downhill skiing in the area also had Covid 19. There were already cases within an hour of us. I knew that we would be shifting to on-line worship and meetings for a couple months.

We were in the midst of planning our major fundraiser of the year, a tour of maple syrup producers. A conversation began via email about whether or not the event should go ahead. The organizing committee decided to pull the plug. Some people wondered if we'd acted too quickly. Within a day or two, we were into lockdown, and there were no more choices.

We needed to have a board meeting. I got a zoom account and emailed my first zoom invitation. All the board members had to download zoom. I had to call those without computers and give them the number to phone in with. It was a steep learning curve.

Zoom opened up new possibilities. I attended workshops that would have been a two hour drive each way. I joined programs that I could not have joined otherwise. Rich experiences. I hope that virtual options will continue.

The writing group I am part of met via zoom during lockdown. We are less than ten people, so by summer 2020, we were able to meet at the Harmony Centre. Then we were back to zoom. Some of our rural members have pretty sketchy internet, so last summer, we shifted to Harrison Park where we found several circles of people in circles six feet apart. Back to the Harmony Centre when it got cold. Back to zoom as omicron hit. As mandates are lifted, we will be in person at the Harmony Centre again. Will I be comfortable meeting indoors without a mask? I don't know.

During the last two years, I have often repeated the statement that the right decision today may not be the right decision tomorrow. Our understanding of the virus changed. The virus itself changed. We pivoted and then pivoted again. I am so impressed with teachers and students who managed to shift back and forth so many times. I am thankful for healthcare workers who kept going despite being stretched thin. I honour all the front-line workers who kept going to work despite the risks.

As we try to wrap our heads around what it means that Covid 19 is now endemic, I also think we need to be aware of those whose lives were most strained by the disease. I am thinking of children who spent kindergarten online--Grade one must be such a struggle for them. I am thinking of seniors who have been isolated. I am thinking of workers and businesses who suffered huge financial losses, non-profits who could not run their fundraisers.

Mandates and restrictions are being lifted, but that does not undo the learnings or the challenges that the last two years leave us with.

Cathy Hird lives on the traditional territory of the Saugeen Ojibway nation