I return to this bulletin after a brief break. It is the season when I feel comfortable in communicating less than weekly because there is virtually nothing being harvested in need of immediate sale.

Not that that there’s nothing still growing. Up until last week I could still harvest high quality black radishes and escarole. Even with several nights when the temperature has hovered closed to 20 degrees, the kale and collards soldier on. The Thanksgiving feast included items that had been harvested well in advance; I brought in the pumpkin for the pie in late October, and used a small frozen turkey on hand from 2018. But it also included Brussels sprouts picked Thanksgiving morning. And last week I managed to extract two full bags of sorrel from the garden for sale. Some plants are amazingly resilient.

The cause of my break was a brief and not entirely anticipated stay-cation, with guests. I admit, somewhat guiltily, that I failed to adhere to the household-only guideline that public health authorities asked us to observe around the holiday. I am generally highly compliant. A diligent masker, I shop rarely, and will often go for a stretch of four or five days without seeing anyone or leaving the farm. But, like other folks I’ve spoken with who made calculated Thanksgiving choices, I did not restrict myself to a holiday with just my one-person household in attendance.

As a lawyer is wont to do, I have worked up my defense against the tsk-tsking of my friends, especially the epidemiologists and infectious disease doctors among them. For the Thanksgiving meal itself I hosted Eric. My “legal” defense (a far less outlandish argument than might be presented by Rudy Giuliani or Sydney Powell) is that Eric should be considered a member of the household, having lived here full time from March to August and returned with his dog, Lillie, for approximately every third week since. We were joined the following day by friends Paul and Steve, who along with another friend, George, and neighbor, Adam, have comprised almost all of my pandemic in-person social world, at least since it got too cold to socialize outdoors at a 6 foot distance.

I call this group my “pod”, though I recognize that ‘s probably a stretch since each member has a small group of people they see outside this “pod.” Recognizing that we are essentially socializing with each other’s contacts, making the risk higher than in a true pod, means that we also maintain a little more distance from each other than if we were living together full time. For example, Eric, Steve and I went to George’s for dinner on Thursday, but we ate outside on his screened porch, surrounded by propane heaters (and ultimately wrapped in blankets) in the 40 degree evening. Ultimately we must rely on each other’s judgment, reflected in our respective social practices, and on our perhaps incomplete scientific understanding in determining how much risk is reasonable to take. I, for example, have assumed that Steve presents no transmission risk, since he is approaching full recovery from a long course of COVID that started in March and still has strong antibody counts to show for it.

Epidemiologists are apparently divided over just how much of a factor “living room” spread of Covid is in fueling the pandemic. Clearly it must contribute at least a small amount. But I would argue that, if approached judiciously, there’s a countervailing public health benefit that makes it reasonable to allow for this degree of small scale social interaction. We are inherently social creatures; we are no more meant to live alone than are sheep or cows. Craving for social interaction may in fact promote reckless risk taking. We may need low risk ways to satisfy the craving, and in these glum times to be reminded of what makes life worth living.

Take, for example, how we eat. Cooking for a one person household can often be a rushed and rudimentary affair, reduci