Delivering connection

It’s funny how one memory takes you down a lane that leads to pleasant recollections that had started to slip away. And sometimes those bring insights that also hadn’t quite hit the surface of conscious thought.

One of my current favourite reads here on Substack is by

Rebecca Holden

Dear Reader, I'm lost

. Rebecca recently wrote about how she and her husband procure fresh eggs from roadside stands with honesty boxes as they travel in their van around the UK countryside. It’s a great read and I highly recommend it. (Maybe after you finish this piece?)

Her post reminded me of the fresh eggs we had delivered weekly when we lived in Devon. We learned about egg delivery when a half-dozen box of fresh eggs was left by our front door one day. Wow. I was a bit uneasy, to be honest, coming from a busy suburban setting in California, where going to the farmers market on a Sunday to buy fresh food rather than a supermarket was pretty radical. 

eggs left on my doorstep

I was already getting my organic produce delivered weekly, so I have no idea why getting eggs the same way seemed so risky. My neighbours got their eggs from an egg lady every week, and they survived, so eventually, after dithering far too long, I got over my fears and signed up with her. Of course the whole process was easy, and the eggs were always delicious (obviously). At certain times of year, they offered their fresh potatoes too, and since I had a ‘no roots’ veggie box, having access to potatoes now and again was slightly thrilling. 

Hating to shop in supermarkets, we had our groceries delivered every few weeks as well, so getting fresh food was low effort-high reward. There were a couple of small corner shops within walking distance if there was a food emergency, and more often we swapped eggs, sugar, flour and other basics (or sometimes gin on a Friday evening) with our neighbours when needed. 

Then the pandemic hit. 

Like everywhere, normal habits and processes slowly ground to a halt, stopped, and then slowly, eventually readjusted and reformed. Amazingly, our main food sources were the eggs and produce that continued to be delivered. And I’ll just shout out now hooray for so many small businesses, many of whom were unsung heroes during the pandemic.

Our groceries did not continue to be delivered, as the priority was rightly given to those who were at high risk for infection, and we were not. So for awhile we shopped like everyone else, gloved and masked up, at supermarkets mainly stripped of basics.

We had a couple of other unexpected delivery delights during that time. One was a local wine merchant who created and delivered value wine boxes. And if you chose to get delivery on a Saturday, you could also include baguettes from our local bakery and cheese and saucisson from France with the order. Win! For valentines day the second year they added homemade macaroons. 

value box (rosé version)

The most unexpected delivery surprise was from one of my co-commuters on the Ferry. We had a little WhatsApp group for those of us who regularly took the ferry back and forth to Plymouth, including the boat operators, so we could keep each other apprised of changes in schedule, personal news, and notices of periodic gatherings at a local pub. During the lockdown phase of the pandemic we checked in on each other, shared jokes and resources, and otherwise kept a little cheer and connection going since we weren’t getting to see each other anymore. 

Mt Batten Ferry (during a traffic stop)

I wouldn’t always check messages when I heard a notification until one afternoon my phone starting buzzing and tinging like crazy. A message had came round from the person in the group who worked at the Plymouth Gin Distillery, asking if anyone wanted anything from the store delivered. Well. It was like asking if Santa Claus could come over directly and deliver extra cash gifts and presents in July, for free. It seems EVERYONE in the group wanted at least one bottle of something. It would be rude not to take her up on the offer, right? 

I know, I started off talking about egg delivery. But remembering all these other delivery treats and the creative ways people figured out how to keep going during lockdown helped me realise that these are the sorts of links that made me feel most at home, in our community, with people around to help each other out. 

Besides the deliveries, we paid attention, checked in on each other casually, politely, and maintained a reassuring presence in each other’s lives. Not in your face presence, but quietly, with small gestures and little kindnesses: an offer to go for a walk, pick up groceries, a key left to borrow some chairs when away, watering each other’s plants, moving cars to allow for friends and workers to park closer on our compact lane. The bonds developed slowly, almost without noticing. 

A decade after moving, and not knowing if I really fit in the UK, and wondering where was home, really; after this pandemic time in our little lane, with our network of creatives and helpers in our extended community, I was pretty sure I’d found home again. 

So it was no surprise then that our hearts broke a little when we knew we were going to have to leave.