56 Horses, Humans, and (no) Hoorays

I was 18 and in grade 12 during March of 2020, my final year of high school. I remember the news of the pandemic becoming a big deal the week before spring break. Everyone was talking about if we’d get an extended break. An extra week? Maybe two? We never returned to campus.

I grew up in British Columbia, in a small town 30km south of Vancouver. The pathetic fallacy of the classic West Coast spring rain was the backdrop for my Covid experience. Every day, as we all finished our semesters online from our bedrooms, I looked out my window and watched the grey rain fall from the grey sky. In grade 12 I took three AP courses, all of which we had finished the content for by spring break. The majority of my schoolwork consisted of studying for the AP tests, unclear of what their format would be without the option of in-person writing. In hindsight, I am grateful to have finished all the content for those courses early because it served me well in my first year of university. God knows I learned the final unit of AP Calculus far better than whatever I should have learned in the last couple months of my French course.

My Covid experience was hallmarked by online school, parking lot hangouts, and as much time outside as it took to not lose my mind. The third and final term of my grade 12 year was finished online. By June, we were allowed back in small groups to film a stage-crossing that would be compiled into a video that would be shared in lieu of a convocation. In town, only essential businesses were open. You could go to the grocery store, you could go for a walk, but that was about it. My friends and I would drive individually to a parking lot and park with all our trunks in a circle. We would bring blankets and snacks and take reprieve in each other’s company for a while. The lockdown procedures were at their peak over the summer, and by the fall they had relaxed some. I did my first year of university at McMaster from my bedroom in BC. I had 9:30am EST classes nearly every day, so my daily routine would be to get up at 5:45am PST, and my mom and I would walk the dog and grab a coffee. By 6:30am PST she’d get ready for work, and I’d head to class. This was far from ideal, but it is a time I look back on fondly because of this morning routine with my mom.

Covid-19 came just as I was finishing an experience with equine herpes virus (EHV). Fresh off quarantining horses, bleach boot baths, and scrubbing feed buckets, I was quarantining myself, sanitizing everything, and wearing masks. I started riding horses at 7, inspired by my mom who grew up riding, and my older sister who started before me. By 18, I had my own horse. He was at a boarding facility where I participated in a co-op; three of us had a small section of the property and were responsible for cleaning our own stall, preparing the horse’s meals, and feeding them their dinner. Breakfast and lunch were fed by the barn staff. One of the other horses in our trio contracted EHV in January. EHV is very contagious, and the barn was immediately on lockdown. Emotionally it was a very challenging time; the stress and the fear associated with a loved animal being sick and your own animal at risk would be bad enough, but the owner of the sick horse and the owner of the boarding facility had a tumultuous relationship at the best of times. These women acted like mean, petty teenagers, and I, the actual teenager, had to hear it from both sides.

While the barn was under quarantine, no horses could leave their stalls. If you think you got antsy in your house during quarantine, imagine a horse. The barn staff wouldn’t feed any meals in the area with the sick horse, so between the three of us in the co-op, we fed every meal. This went on for nearly a month, and as soon as things felt like they were back to normal, Covid hit. One of the biggest challenges with Covid was having to face it immediately after another stressful, scary, and bleach-smelling experience. In the co-op, I was still responsible for feeding dinner a few times a week and cleaning my own stall every day, but no one on the property was allowed to ride. This rule was less out of fear of spreading the disease amongst people; most of the time you are outside or can easily be a few meters away from each other, and it was winter so everyone was wearing gloves and scarves anyways, but moreso out of caution should you fall or be injured. An avoidable injury taking up a hospital bed during a pandemic was not a good look. As much as I understood the reason behind it, it sucked. However, despite not being able to ride, my time at the stables during Covid kept me sane. Every day I got outside, I got a bit of exercise through manual labour, I spent time with my horse, and I saw people I didn’t live with (hooray). It was a small daily thing to be grateful for in unprecedented and stressful times.

A theme that was prevalent throughout my Covid experience was evasion of government guidelines that were in the best interest of public health in favour of personal interests. Selfishness and the belief that you were above the rules were not uncommon in my small town. I remember that by June when high school graduation was supposed to be, the Covid numbers were looking a bit better, and everyone was antsy to be outside and active again after restrictions all spring. There were still guidelines about gathering sizes, public distancing, and masking, however. Distinctly, I remember a group of my classmates’ parents  being adamant about throwing grad parties. My graduating class was approximately 300 people, far more than the 50-person public gathering limit. These parents insisted on throwing grad events, despite the potential danger to public health, because they felt that their kid’s graduation experience was more important. I was mad about it then, and it still makes me frustrated now. This theme of people putting their personal interests above public health is seen throughout history, and will continue to be present, I’m sure.