In darkness, I feel my way from bedroom to kitchen hugging the outside wall like liquid in a centrifuge. The place is strange, gray, and round like a spaceship, alien. As I tap through the living room into the hallway toward the kitchen, an orange laser beam shoots through a window and startles me closer to consciousness.

The radiant sliver widens over the Lego-like apartments at 225 North Calvert between St. Paul Plaza and the Blaustein Building at One North Charles. Then I remember: we are 21 stories above Baltimore, in a circular penthouse with windows open to every direction, and I just traveled from the shaded westside to dawn’s early light in the east.

My wife, two daughters, and I are in Hotel COVID, known prior to this pandemic as the Lord Baltimore.

I put water on to boil for the French press as a Warhol-esque portrait of Marilyn Monroe stares at me between two windows. Empty marinara-stained Styrofoam from Sabatino’s top the garbage can while recyclables spill out of two MICA tote bags—signs of just temporary domesticity.

Half the stuff in the kitchen—utensils, pots, and pans—belongs to the hotel and half is our family’s, which was transported in stages.

Five floors below us, and descending to the fourth floor of the Lord Baltimore Hotel, the rooms are filled with local residents diagnosed with COVID-19, or people who are highly suspected of having the illness. These residents (we do not call them “patients”) are not so symptomatic as to require hospitalization, but have been shuttled here from all over the Baltimore area because they could not safely isolate. They live in, and have come from, congregate settings such as shelters, substance-use recovery houses, multi-generational households, or on the street.

My wife, Marik Moen, is an RN and assistant professor of community and public health at the University of Maryland School of Nursing. She was invited to serve as the director of nursing here at the Lord Baltimore Hotel Triage Respite and Isolation Center, a collaborative effort of the Mayor’s Office of Homeless Services, the city health department, and the University of Maryland Medical System, with support from nonprofits like Healthcare for the Homeless Maryland.

In many cases, Healthcare for the Homeless identifies potential residents who may be well served by the Triage Respite and Isolation Center. The University of Maryland Medical System provides the healthcare, and the city oversees the operation, having entered into an agreement with the Miami-based Rubell family—the owners of the popular, 1928-built French Renaissance hotel—which had been all-but-vacant since March due to the state’s lockdown order.

Two years earlier, we had moved from Baltimore to Fairfaix, Virginia when I took a job at George Mason University and Marik’s work life entered a research phase that required that she commute to Baltimore just a few days a week. Then the pandemic happened.

Characteristic of returned Peace Corps volunteers, Marik, who served in Gabon for three years before we were married, asked herself, “If not now, when? If not me, who?” So she reached out to the team pulling together the Baltimore Convention Center and, after an onboarding training, picked up some shifts.

In the early days of coronavirus, Baltimore enacted a plan similar to other cities that were transforming convention centers into field hospitals for COVID-19 patients who did not require intensive care. Then, in late April, weeks into the lockdown and wrapping up our semesters as professors while overseeing the ever-changing online schooling situation of our children, the phone rang. 

It was Chuck Callahan, vice president of Population Health at the University of Maryland Medical Center. Marik and Chuck knew one another from a shared interest in population health and from the Convention Center project, which Chuck oversaw. I could not hear their full conversation, of course, but I distilled it as Chuck described the Lord Baltimore Hotel project—how the population being served exactly aligned with Marik’s service and research interests. I guessed correctly that he was asking whether she would head up the nursing component

I could tell by Marik’s voice, her hemming and hawing, as well as her energy and enthusiasm, what she was thinking. “If not now, when? If not me, who?”

Throughout the weekend, we must have walked around Lake Royal in Northern Virginia 50 times: back-burnering already back-burnered research goals and tenure-track requirements, discussing home-life and school-life that had suddenly become one life, and weighing the risk of infection and contamination. 

“If not now, when?” “If not me, who?” Simple: Now. You. Us.

Marik departed for Baltimore on May 3. Driving back and forth from Fairfax, the extra steps required to keep the car clean and change her clothes upon first re-entering the house, to reduce the risk of contaminating us, did not make sense, so early on Marik simply stayed in Baltimore. We only occasionally saw her thereafter. During that first month, Marik stayed in a corner room on the 25th floor of the Crowne Plaza at Fayette and Liberty Streets. On weekends, we’d either drive up or she’d return to Fairfax to do laundry, purloin kitchen utensils, and swipe condiments.

On our first visit, before residents arrived at the Lord Baltimore, Marik gave us a tour. Armed guards greeted us just inside the lobby door off of Hanover Street where we rubbed hand sanitizer into our palms and took our temperatures. A hotel employee checked us in; otherwise, the large lobby was empty. 

The ornate ceiling betrayed the hotel’s opulence, with a mauve and sage floral and diamond pattern accentuated with gilded edges. A grand piano sat silent and shadows cloaked the bar. Here roamed the ghosts of Amelia Earhart, Babe Ruth, Martin Luther King, Jr., and former Maryland governor Harry Hughes, who used the hotel as his gubernatorial campaign headquarters. In fact, paranormal experts claim the hotel—Baltimore’s tallest building when it was erected just before the Great Depression hit—is truly haunted. Guests have reported seeing the apparition of Molly, dressed in white and playing with a red ball, whose parents were apparently among the hotel’s “leapers.” 

On the grand two-tiered ballroom level, Marik showed us the operation center where representatives from partnering organizations had set up workstations. Bowl-shaped crystal chandeliers still illuminated the space, gold sconces glowed from the columns, and long luxurious curtains graced the windows. But gone were the round tables draped in off-white linen, sparkling glassware, and formal place settings with silver cutlery. In their place were laptops and printers, a few rows of chairs set up for team meetings, cases of bottled water, file folders, and piles of masks.

We returned to the lobby and faced a bank of four elevators. Inside the lifts, duct tape covered select buttons so that no one could inadvertently access a floor where COVID residents stayed. At every third floor, elevator doors opened on donning and doffing stations with industrial-strength plastic sealing doorways. (Staff could access the non-doffing floors only through the service elevators behind sealed hallways inside the “hot zone.” Residents accessed the floors via service elevators that connected with the loading dock area.) 

The process for each TRI Center staffer involved entering an antechamber and donning personal protective equipment (N-95 mask, face shield, gown, gloves, booties), and next making rounds and using a pass-through room from the east side of the U-shaped floor to the west side. Then, at the end of a shift, doffing the PPE at the opposite antechamber. About 25 rooms per floor were in service, including smoking rooms, staff rooms, and pass-through rooms. Stairways were alarmed to prevent residents from using them but still allowing for emergency exits. In addition to PPE, nurses would be equipped with stethoscopes, thermometers, pulse oximeters, and blood pressure cuffs—just enough tools, along with their smarts and experience, to determine when a resident’s respiratory symptoms worsened or complications from a present comorbidity flared.

The first residents were due the Tuesday following our first family visit. We bought oysters and a rockfish from STREETS Market & Cafe and wine from Urban Cellars. We celebrated because it was clear that we wouldn’t be seeing much of each other. Then the kids and I returned to Virginia.

Residents arrived on May 12. Marik reported on challenges on the frontline: civilians working in but not understanding the clinical realm, droopy masks, mental health crises among some residents, others going on walk-abouts. Quarantine and cabin fever. The messiness of real life spilt over into Hotel COVID as problems that existed outside also existed here. Suddenly, a two-week reservation at the Lord Baltimore Hotel in the heart of beautiful downtown Charm City did not sound like a vacation at all.

In addition to navigating new professional relationships and corralling an entourage of mostly unfamiliar nurses, Marik got to know the hotel staff who tended to both their usual tasks and extraordinary new ones with a level of generosity not necessarily anticipated when your historic hotel morphs into a 2020 pandemic refuge. Perhaps most gracious was Onahlea Shimunek, the general manager of the Lord Baltimore, who has nearly 30 years of experience in hospitality.

Onahlea serves on the boards of such organizations as Back on My Feet, which combats homelessness through the power of running, community support, and employment and housing resources, and HealthCare Access Maryland. Naturally, she possesses a proclivity toward initiatives such as those currently occupying her 440-room hotel. Her LinkedIn page says that she “embraces challenges that create opportunities for the LBH team.” What could be more challenging than a triage, respite, and isolation center?

One might say Onahlea put the hospitality in “hospital.” She also knew the stress that working at Hotel COVID placed on Marik and her family, so she arranged for Marik to use one of the Lord Baltimore Hotel’s penthouses that came with an open invitation to us, which is how I have come to waking up several mornings a month feeling my way around the walls to the kitchen. Windows to the south overlooked the LB Skybar on the 19th Floor and the ledge from which Molly’s parents leapt.

On Memorial Day, the same day Marik officially moved into Hotel COVID, a cop in her home state of Minnesota pressed his knee into George Floyd’s neck for more than eight minutes, killing him. A few days later, the kids and I packed clothes, laptops, books, and the packets that Fairfax County Public Schools mailed out and joined her. Same ritual each time entering the building: guards armed, hands cleaned, temperatures checked, express elevator to the 21st floor, and a 360-degree view of Baltimore.

On Friday, May 29, the first weekend after George Floyd’s murder and just over five years since the death of Freddie Gray while in police custody, I noticed from the bedroom window a few people walking down the middle of Liberty Street at Fayette. (Nothing unusual about Baltimoreans jay-walking.) Then, a few more bodies filtered through, then a cluster of a dozen, more, marching south.

Suddenly, a two-week reservation at the Lord Baltimore Hotel in the heart of beautiful downtown Charm City did not sound like a vacation at all.

I ran downstairs to join the flow of souls awash with demonstrators converging on downtown traffic along Light Street at Harborplace. A chorus call and response rose up: “I can’t breathe!” followed by “No justice, no peace!” That evening, the thwump, thwump, thwump of industrial HVAC fans on rooftops below the penthouse echoed the beat of helicopters that hovered above the city. The after-protest action on Saturday night was fierier than the previous night, with cars and dirt bikes making laps around blocks and against traffic deep into the early morning.

A few hours later, I feel my way through the suite to brew coffee and catch the solar uprising while humming a Joe Strummer tune (“I’m waiting for the rays of the morning sun. Somebody tell me, has the new world begun?”). 

On Monday, June 1, Marik dressed and descended the elevator to the COVID-crisis below while the kids and I booted up for work and school. I constantly patrol the penthouse windows, around and around like a figurine in a Black Forest house cuckoo clock. Then it struck, at mid-afternoon, a torrent of demonstrators led by peaceful youth protesters cascading down Baltimore Street past the hotel heading toward City Hall. I dragged the girls downstairs, “You can’t miss this! You may not entirely understand it, but you must see it.”

Again, the next Saturday, a march from City Hall west along Fayette turning north on Charles Street toward the Washington Monument. Again, I masked the kids and dragged them out in hopes that the indelible impression would lead to more serious conversations, maybe today, maybe tomorrow as they grow older. We stood in the intersection: “This is important stuff girls, look at it, look at it hard.”  Masked demonstrators filed past us: “Dismantle Racist Police State,” “How Many More Times Does This Shit Have to Happen Until Black Lives Matter?,” “Enough is Enough.” A thousand hand-held placards. Look hard.

Then we returned to the penthouse at the Hotel COVID, where we could rise above it all, an act of privilege that demanded to be acknowledged.

COVID-19 uprooted our lives, as it did for tens of thousands of families, with more dire consequences for far too many. For us, it meant Mom left for the TRI Center at the Lord Baltimore Hotel while I worked remotely, taught ineffectually, and oversaw lamely the final weeks of second and fourth grade for our kids from “home.” Although her time at the TRI Center would conclude at the end of summer, Marik’s public health career would continue to rattle her world and compel her to be on site, whereas my higher ed world would struggle to reimagine its future when its past hinged on bodies physically being on campus. With our lease due for renewal, we rolled the dice and started house hunting in Baltimore.

I told Marik that the unprecedented situation dictated the move. In fact, I was homesick.

On July 17, we closed on a house and moved back home to Baltimore. (I recognized one trustee’s name on the contract, a writer whose husband is a painter whose prints hung on our walls. The other trustee’s name was an estate lawyer and partner of a colleague of mine from when I worked at MICA. And the seller’s niece was a nurse practitioner who worked at the TRI Center with Marik. In other words, the quintessential Smalltimore signs of making a good decision.) 

Then we returned to the penthouse at the Hotel COVID, where we could rise above it all, an act of privilege that demanded to be acknowledged.

The next weekend, Marik collected things that had accumulated at Hotel COVID and officially checked out. Her time with this project ended in early September. On the Sunday of Labor Day weekend, Marik’s phone buzzed the way it did most mornings just after 5:30 a.m. when the day’s staffing needs started to jostle. Nurses were needed at the Lord Baltimore, but Marik had checked out—even though I think a standing reservation is on hold for her.   

As of this fall, the TRI Center had served more than 750 residents, saving lives due to close monitoring and triage to higher levels of care if residents’ conditions worsened. The team prevented countless infections by isolating positive people from the wider population and stemming the chain of transmission. The Lord Baltimore Hotel Triage Respite and Isolation Center will continue to operate through December, or as long as the epidemic still demands a Hotel COVID.

As of this writing, President-Elect Biden’s transition team attempts to coordinate a more unified response to the pandemic while the outgoing administration struggles with the resurgent coronavirus. It’s as bad as March, rates of infection higher than even the summer. And as Marik takes more shifts and the TRI Center team reaches out for support, I’m reminded of the classic Eagle’s song: You can check out of Hotel COVID, but you can never leave.

Gregg Wilhelm is the founder and former executive director of CityLit Project in Baltimore and director of the Creative Writing Program at George Mason University in Fairfax.

Last spring, a collective sigh of relief spread throughout the Baltimore music community when it was announced that the Ottobar, the beloved, rough-and-tumble rock club in Remington and a local institution for the past two decades, would be purchased by its longtime bar manager, Tecla Tesnau.

Just six months earlier, it went up for sale, leaving fans of all ages wondering what it would mean for the city’s cultural landscape if that small black room and dimly lit dance floor was no longer packed with sweaty bodies. Or worse, if the graffitied walls were painted over to become just another slick venue without the same gritty heart and soul.

Behind the bar since its inception downtown on Davis Street, Tesnau had seen the Ottobar through many changes over the past 23 years, from the digitization of the music industry to the gentrification of Baltimore—none of which would prepare her, of course, for what would arrive six months after she took over, when the novel coronavirus swept around the world and left a sea of shuttered concert halls in its wake.

“After I got handed the keys, we were running full tilt, 100 miles per hour, setting records left and right, the lineup was absolutely stellar—even my accountant at one point was like, ‘Good work, kid,’ which is high praise from someone who is usually all about the books,” says Tesnau on a Tuesday afternoon in late September. “Then, boom, COVID landed, and we hit an absolute cinderblock wall. We got knocked on our ass.”

Since early March, the Ottobar stage has stood mostly empty. No crowds have gathered beneath its sparkling disco ball. No feet have dangled from the second-floor balcony. No lines have wrapped out the door, down the alleyway, and around the corner onto Howard Street. The bar is tidy, the barstools tucked in, not a drop of liquor spilled on the floor beneath them for months.

Shortly after the first case of COVID-19 arrived in Maryland, Governor Larry Hogan announced restrictions on public gatherings, first limiting groups to 250 people—half of the Ottobar’s capacity—then 50, then 10, before a statewide lockdown. For most venues, the weeks that followed meant navigating the quagmire of canceled concerts, refunded ticket sales, unemployment applications, and gathering paperwork for the Small Business Administration’s Paycheck Protection Program.

“We were literally building the airplane as we were flying it, and are still continuing to do so,” says Tesnau. “The space feels so different now. It smells better, for one—I’ve taken to cleaning it a lot. But it’s cavernous, absolutely cavernous. I can’t tell you how much I miss having music in there. Honestly, if I had known that last show was going to be our last, I would’ve been in the mosh pit, too.”

Much like restaurants, the very existence of music venues—particularly small, independent clubs that don’t have the parent companies or shareholders of those in cahoots with conglomerates like Live Nation and AEG—was upended this year as, overnight, their entire business model became virtually obsolete.

Suddenly, COVID-19 made concert-going as we know it simply unsafe, with the virus spread through respiratory droplets, be it coughing or singing, plus close proximity and indoor environments increasing the risk of transmission. Tours were called off, and venues became some of the first businesses to close.

“No one knew then what extreme toll the virus was going to take on the music industry at large,” says Tesnau. “It has absolutely decimated and devastated the music industry. And it’s this massive trickle down.”

“A lot of people don’t realize how many people work in this industry,” says Abigail Janssens, owner of The 8×10 in Federal Hill. “It goes from the artists to the bus drivers who drive them to the tractor trailers who carry the equipment to the people who load the stage to the sound engineers, the light technicians, the box-office person, the security, the bartenders. It takes many, many people to put on a show.” (Not to mention that for every $1 spent on a ticket at independent venues, an estimated $12 is generated within local economies on restaurants, hotels, transportation, and retail.)

Janssens and her husband, Brian Shupe, took over their tiny Cross Street stage in 2005, breathing new life into the live music staple that dates back to the 1980s, when it hosted the likes of Nirvana and the Red Hot Chili Peppers before they were famous. The couple added multi-night residencies and cemented the venue as a hidden gem for both local and national rock-spectrum talent. Their last show was on March 12, the same day that Governor Hogan announced his first restrictions, causing them to cancel the final round of the Charm City Bluegrass Festival’s Battle of the Bands the next evening.

“We’ve been closed ever since,” says Janssens, who called off some 100 shows through September. “Our space is so small. There’s almost no way to socially distance, and I’d be devastated if anybody came in and got sick or spread the virus to other people. No way did I think we were going to be shut down for more than a couple weeks, a few months at most.”

“NO WAY DID I THINK WE’D BE SHUT DOWN FOR MORE THAN A FEW MONTHS AT MOST.”

It has now been nine months since her staff was laid off, joining the millions of Americans who went on unemployment this year due to COVID-19. And although she received the PPP and took out a small-business loan, she has still had to take another job in order to keep the lights on at The 8×10, which was already an uphill battle prior to the pandemic, as it is for many independent club owners.

“We’re definitely not in a business to become millionaires,” says Janssens. “It’s very, very tough. There are fans that come and go, there are bands that move on from a small venue—which is great for them. Being closed, we still have to pay $12,000 a month just for bills: rent, insurance, utilities, and all the other things that go along with owning a business. Now we’re almost out of the money from our loan, and it’s starting to get scary.”

The coming months will be critical for these clubs, with cold weather forcing the world back indoors, and spiking COVID-19 cases causing cities and states to clamp down again. It is estimated that 90 percent of independent venues will close permanently within the next few months without financial help from the federal government, according to the National Independent Venue Association (NIVA), a recently established advocacy group. They are currently lobbying Congress to pass the Save Our Stages Act, which would establish a $10-billion grant program for this portion of the industry.

Locally, Governor Hogan announced state-wide emergency funding for live entertainment venues in late October, with grants up to $500,000. But even with this vital aid, without a vaccine distributed widely in the near future, and with Maryland once again in a state of emergency, the situation remains precarious.

“I feel terrible for some venues who are struggling to decide whether they should get out now or wait,” says Janssens. “Luckily, we’ve been in business for 15 years. We have good credit and were able to secure a loan. Otherwise we wouldn’t have been able to make it either. I’m saying this hoping to be open by next spring at the latest. If it goes on longer than that, then we might be in trouble.”

So far, no Baltimore venues have announced permanent closure, but the two-year-old Soundry shuttered in Columbia in July, and the decade-old U Street Music Hall went dark in D.C. in October. Several spaces, like Joe Squared, a live music respite for 15 years on North Avenue, and The Sidebar, a veteran punk club around the corner from City Hall, remain temporarily closed. As does Rituals, a DIY newcomer that opened just last summer in the former Windup Space, whose owner, Émile Weeks, described the waiting game as “moving through stages of grief.”

“Seeing so many clubs teetering on the brink of bankruptcy breaks your heart,” says Sam Sessa, Baltimore music coordinator at WTMD. “These spaces are part of what makes Baltimore’s music scene one of the best in the nation. Their loss would be a huge blow.”

Without ticket sales, not to mention food and drink—an important source of revenue for many venues—some have been able to stay afloat through alternative outlets. The Crown in Station North has shifted operations into its secondary restaurant space downstairs, with the club’s bouncer, Tony MacDonald, still checking IDs, but now also temperatures. The Ottobar, with its alleyway patio, and the Creative Alliance, with its roving Sidewalk Serenades, were able to utilize the outdoors during warm weather.

Others have tried their hands at smaller indoor concerts as Maryland entered new stages of its coronavirus recovery plan this fall. At press time, however, Baltimore City has just reverted to Phase One, with venues now allowed to operate at only 25 percent capacity, including staff. This creates an economic pickle for smaller spaces who have to decide if those numbers make any financial sense.

“Fifty people doesn’t even begin to pay a band, and is it worth it for my bartenders to come in and possibly get sick for nothing that they’re used to making?” says Janssens, whose 8×10 typically holds 250 people.

“It’s going to help us maintain, but it’s still a very big challenge to keep hanging on,” says Adam Savage, music manager at Baltimore Soundstage, which launched limited-seating concerts at its downtown venue that typically holds 1,000 people. He also works at the Metro Gallery in Station North, which has remained closed since March, as it’s difficult to social distance in a 240-person room.

Still, it is uncertain whether or not audiences will even feel comfortable coming back inside. The Keystone Korner in Harbor East and Cat’s Eye Pub in Fells Point have already had some initial success—and Ticketmaster is now toying with the idea of verifying COVID test results and vaccination statuses before admittance to shows in 2021, which may be the way of the future—but for the time being, it’s not for everyone. “It’s unfortunate, but I don’t think people feel comfortable, and I don’t feel comfortable having a band on our stage, and I don’t think that’s going to change anytime soon,” says Tesnau.

For that, there has been a sort of second digital renaissance within the industry. Several years back, albums moved onto the internet, forever changing the way we consume music. Now, artists themselves have shifted to social media, with virtual concerts becoming the new way for performers big and small to reach fans in the comforts of their own homes.

Every Tuesday since late March, singer-songwriter Cris Jacobs has taken to Facebook Live for at-home concerts, accepting online tips to support his family and out-of-work band and crew. Rapper DDm and indie-rockers Future Islands also released new records via video performances, while dozens of jazz and classical artists, like Warren Wolf and Lafayette Gilchrist, have beamed out sets via YouTube through Mount Vernon’s An Die Musik. And audiences are tuning in, not just in Baltimore, but from across the globe.

“There’s definitely a democratization that’s happened to performance during this pandemic, which is wonderful—we’re all competing for the same eyeballs,” says Josh Kohn, performance director at the Creative Alliance, whose Virtual Front Row livestream series, featuring local artists such as Lea Gilmore and Super City, has evolved into a hybrid in-person offering. “But it leaves the question: what is the role of a venue right now, when you can’t put people in a room together?”

“WHAT IS THE ROLE OF A VENUE WHEN YOU CAN’T PUT PEOPLE IN A ROOM TOGETHER?”

It also raises the question of longevity. Artists and venues are making investments into livestream technologies, like better sound and camera equipment, but most acknowledge the reality of screen fatigue, perhaps due in part to an increasingly technology-tied world in quarantine. Even more likely, it’s because online performances miss something harder to grasp or define—that kinetic electricity of a tiny room reverberating with sound.

“There’s just this vibration during a live performance that you can’t replicate in any other way,” says Kohn. “There’s an energy and a magic when something powerful happens in front of a group of people together. Personally, I came to the Creative Alliance because I love that room. I really miss it.”

Of course, the absence of venues has also had an immense impact on the musicians themselves, who use these stages to not only make a living but also hone their craft and feed off the exchange with a live audience.

“I’m used to it now, but the first few weeks, there was just silence after I played a song, which was really strange,” Cris Jacobs told us this summer. “Playing [virtual] shows made me realize just how much I do miss live music. It’s what I’ve done for so long. Until it’s gone, you maybe don’t realize all the ways it served you, and everybody.”

In recent years, one venue in particular, The Crown, has become a pivotal proving ground for a diverse array of DIY artists, with the small blue room and main red room serving as stepping stones to bigger clubs. This is where Abdu Ali started their iconic Kahlon parties back in 2013 that helped put Baltimore’s music scene on the map and launch the avant-garde rapper on a trajectory toward indie stardom.

“So many young, new artists come through there—it’s really one of the last underground venues in America, as gentrification has hit cities so hard so that places like The Crown literally cannot exist,” says Ali, who also tips their hat to Metro Gallery and mentions the important work that more venues need to do to nurture marginalized creatives. “It’s very important for artists to have the comfort of knowing they have a space where they can do their thing in their city, in their community, in their own backyard.”

For now, for the foreseeable future, most music venues will stay closed, as many states shut down, and the reopening of businesses remaining a point of national debate. In last-ditch efforts to buy more time, the Ottobar and 8×10 launched GoFundMe campaigns this fall, receiving an outpouring of community support, and perhaps a glimmer of hope.

“There is still a huge hunger for live music in people’s lives,” says Savage, who helped Soundstage put on drive-in concerts at the Frederick Fairgrounds this summer. “We’ve been gathering around drums in caves since the very beginning. Live music is part of human existence. It’s something we need on an absolute fundamental level. It just can’t go away.”

Last spring, when Single Carrot Theatre said goodbye to its physical performance space in Remington, the experimental ensemble had no idea then that its outside-the-box plans for nomadic performances across Baltimore would come in so handy in 2020.

“We really wanted to be able to move around the city more, showcase different spaces and neighborhoods, and have a deeper relationship with the people of Baltimore,” says artistic director Genevieve de Mahy, with the company’s 2017 Promenade being a perfect example—a boundary-breaking production aboard a bus with audience members watching out the windows as actors performed scenes on the city streets. “We wanted to invest our money into staff, artists, and art making, not into a facility. We were excited and confident about that decision when we made it. Now, during COVID times, literally not being able to perform in a theater venue, we’ve felt very fortunate.”

Prior to the coronavirus pandemic, Single Carrot had been in the midst of planning its upcoming 13th season after successful runs of Safe Space, a murder-mystery at the Clifton Mansion in February, and Mr. Wolf, a spin on “Little Red Riding Hood” at the St. John’s Church in October 2019. But when the first cases arrived in Maryland this March and quickly shut down performance spaces, their short list of ideas was quickly scrapped to create a nimble lineup fit for social distancing and quarantine.

After hosting a virtual variety show on Zoom in April and an original play on YouTube Live in July, “We did a lot of thinking about how to pull people away from their screens and out into the real world in a safe way, both for our audience and our ensemble,” says de Mahy. “What’s exciting about this time is that, since the way we’re planning is so short term, it actually allows us to create work that’s really reactive to the current moment.”

In that vein, kicking off their new three-show lineup on September 24 will be Keep Off The Grass: A Guide to [something], an original, interactive theatrical experience addressing the moral questions faced in this turbulent year. It all takes place in the great outdoors and uses a silent, contact-free performance across different stations on the sprawling grounds of the St. John’s Church on Old York Road, where they are currently in residency. Similar to museum audio tours, audience members will follow the plot by downloading a playlist onto their cell phones, with some additional devices available for those in need.

“What other delivery methods can we use to make shows that are exciting and interesting and different than what’s been done before?” poses de Mahy. “We wanted to make sure that these shows provoked important thoughts and questions while also making sure we approach them from a place where we can have fun, laugh, and really satirize what’s happening in the world today.”

On January 13, 2021, Single Carrot will also present Healthy Holly’s Hidden Hideaway, a fully phone-based mystery via call and text that envisions a cast of nefarious characters at the undisclosed location holding Baltimore’s Confederate monuments. Later that spring, on April 30, Is Edward Snowden Single? aims to showcase its small-cast, millennial coming-of-age story in person, COVID willing, with more details to follow.

Even as Governor Hogan announces “stage three” of the state’s COVID-19 recovery plan, including the reopening of live entertainment venues, Baltimore City has maintained “stage two” restrictions, with much remaining uncertain for the theater world. Most of the city’s companies yet to announce their fall performances, but de Mahy considers these times as a pivotal moment that could set the stage for the future.

“My hope is that there is no going back,” says de Mahy. “Yes, we’ll do plays inside again, but theater is right on this crux of figuring out if it’s a dying art or not. There are exciting new forms to explore, and I hope these times push theaters to think differently, and more vibrantly. I also hope that when it is safe to be in person again, there will be this joy and appreciation for going out and doing things and being in a room with people that we took for granted before.”

Ravens offensive coordinator Greg Roman is worried that Lamar Jackson might talk too loud.

He’s worried that players and coaches from other teams—either watching live or on television replays—will clearly hear what signals the quarterback is yelling out at the line of scrimmage and find a pattern about what play follows, or which direction Jackson runs.

Think of how clear Peyton Manning’s famous “Omaha” call was on national television a few years back. Now put that situation in a mostly empty, cavernous football stadium. (Manning, the future Hall of Fame quarterback, revealed once he retired that the Nebraska city was an “indicator” word to his lineman that he’d changed a play, and gone to “Plan B”.)

Sensitive microphones can easily pick up language from players, coaches, or the sound of a sneeze, especially with no fans in the stands, which will be the case for at least the start of this Ravens season. It’s scheduled to begin next Sunday at M&T Bank Stadium against the Cleveland Browns.

“That’s one of the first things we started talking about,” Roman, the guy who picks the plays that Jackson calls in the huddle and the line of scrimmage, said this week, “how the communication is going to be a lot more evident, based on the fact that it’s not going to be nearly as loud. We’ll definitely mix some things up as we go.” He often holds his hand or play sheet over his goateed mouth so opponents can’t read his lips. A mask might do the job now.

(On a related note, Ravens coach John Harbaugh said the other day, “Don’t they put that lip-sync thing out every year?” referring to the series of hilarious “Bad Lip Reading” videos that have linked nonsensical phrases to the movement of coaches’ mouths, “It’s going to kill that industry.”)

In the grand scheme of this most unusual and chaotic year, sign-stealing and code-breaking probably doesn’t rank high on the list of most people’s daily concerns.

As we work from home with kids hanging from our legs, and others struggle with the challenges of not working at all, we’re simply happy to even be talking and writing about sports, and that games are happening.

(And so are others, evidently. As we were researching something for this article, we noticed a Browns fan must have done some recent editing to M&T Bank Stadium’s Wikipedia page, labeling the Ravens stadium as “aka Baker Mayfield’s house” in the first line and picture caption. Can someone please change that?)

Football will be played, but like most everything else this year, it will be different. Because of the pandemic and government regulations, the Ravens home stadium—aside from the players on the field, coaches on the sidelines, and other team staff—will be empty on game days. Same goes for most road games, depending on the state and if policies change.

Fans know that the Ravens have a provocative in-stadium message during big points of a game. “Every decibel counts,” with a fake sound meter encouraging more. But the noise will literally be manually controlled this year. “It’s always great to have our fans there. They’re always energized,” linebacker Tyus Bowser said recently. “It’s going to be a different vibe.”

In fact, the NFL is reportedly requiring teams to play fake crowd noise to create some semblance of atmosphere (as well as background noise for entertainment and competitive reasons, like Roman said). And stadium staff will be allowed to play loud music until there’s 15 seconds left on the play clock.

In this new work-at-home (stadium) life, everyone who isn’t a player will be required to wear a mask on the sideline or anywhere else. Media interviews, typically done in person in or near the locker rooms, will be held over videoconference, like they have been the last month since training camp began in Owings Mills. Players will continue to be tested for COVID-19 every day. (They’re the most tested people in the country, it seems.) Reporters and team staff will spread out in the press box and capacity will be limited.

And, most notably, the Ravens recently said that cardboard cutouts of paying fans will sit in the purple seats at M&T Bank Stadium, which for the previous 22 years have been occupied by real humans. It’s a trend that other pro sports teams, from South Korean baseball organizations to the NBA bubble in Florida, have tried this year. If you ask us, it’s a brilliant idea.

For $45 if you’re a personal seat license (PSL) holder, or $55 if you’re not, your image can be one of the flat likenesses in the crowd on Sundays, and you can maybe catch the paper version of yourself in the stands while watching on TV. The team will tell you in which section of the stadium you should look. All proceeds from the cutout sales will benefit the Ravens’ COVID-19 relief efforts in the Baltimore area, and you can find more details about how to order yours here.

“Unfortunately, we can’t have fans at the game for the time being, so we wanted to give an opportunity for fans to feel like they were still there,” Deandra Duggans, the Ravens director of advertising and branding, said on the morning news the other day while showing a few examples of what the cutouts could look like.

Twenty-six of the NFL’s 32 teams have announced fanless plans, much like the Orioles have done this year. From a competitive standpoint, for the Ravens, it’s really a shame, given that Super Bowl hopes are very legitimate with Jackson, the reigning NFL Most Valuable Player, entering the prime years of his career. There should be plenty to cheer for. Originally, the team had plans to have 14,000 people in their roughly 71,000-person capacity stadium. Then the Ravens sent a revised proposal to the city and state with a cap of 7,500 fans at games, but that was shot down last week.

“That’s a bummer,” new Ravens defensive lineman Derek Wolfe said the day the decision was announced. “I’m more bummed out for the fans themselves, because they’re not going to get to [go]. Who knows? Maybe a couple of games in we might be able to start letting some fans in. Maybe by the end of the season, going to the playoffs, we’ve got a full packed stadium.”

We’re not going to blame anyone for being cautious, even with the idea of a crowd 10 percent of a normal one. So, dealing with the current reality, the Ravens have practiced at least three times in the last two weeks in an empty home stadium to get a sense of what the season will look and sound like.

On Wednesday, they practiced in the afternoon to mimic what the light will look like—mainly for Jackson and the wide receivers when they catch and throw, and for kick and punt returners when they look into the sky—during their 1 p.m. season opener against the Browns.

With no preseason games this August, the team ran through substitution patterns and game situations all with ambient noise blaring. After the first stadium practice, Ravens coach John Harbaugh said, “It was louder than I thought it was going to be. [It was] probably similar to what you have in the stadium when the crowd is there at a normal level.”

That’s good news for his fourth-year assistant Roman, and Jackson, and anyone else who doesn’t want to worry about other teams hearing what they’re saying.

“It’s different,” Roman said, “but once that ball gets placed and the whistle blows, it’s football. And we have to get ready to play some good football.”

Governor Larry Hogan announced Tuesday that based on the state’s flattening COVID-19 positivity and hospitalization rates, Maryland will begin to move into the state’s next phase of reopening.

As with earlier stages of reopening, individual jurisdictions are empowered to make decisions regarding the timing of the reopening of movie theaters and live entertainment venues, as well as increased capacity at restaurants, retail stores, and religious services.

Baltimore Mayor Jack Young said Wednesday that the city is not yet ready to fully move into the next phase of the reopening guidelines put forth by the Hogan administration. But Baltimore will loosen restrictions in some areas, including restaurants and movie theaters. The city will allow restaurants to open indoor dining to 50 percent capacity next week, Young said during a Wednesday press conference at the War Memorial Building.

Late Wednesday, City officials said movie theaters will be allowed to open Friday at 25 percent of their capacity, according to reporting by The Baltimore Sun.

Baltimore County Executive Johnny Olszewski Jr. said in a statement that the county will align with the state and move into the next phase of the Hogan Administration’s coronavirus recovery plan, allowing theaters to reopen and retail and religious facilities to expand indoor capacity.

“Baltimore County has taken significant steps to combat the COVID-19 pandemic while gradually and safely reopening our economy,” Olszewski said. “Thanks to our efforts, and the efforts of county residents to protect themselves and their loved ones, we’ve seen continued progress. This dangerous disease is still with us and I urge all our residents and businesses to continue to follow the best public health guidance. In the days and weeks ahead, we will continue to strictly enforce state laws and guidelines—any businesses found to be violating face-covering or social distancing mandates will be held accountable.”

According to state metrics, Baltimore County’s positivity rate has remained below 5 percent since July 7, 2020 and is currently 4.4 percent. Baltimore County’s case rate is 1,800 cases per 100,000 residents—35 percent lower than Prince George’s County, 22 percent lower than Baltimore City, and 2 percent lower than Montgomery County.

Face coverings are still required under state and local order. Individuals aged 5 and up must wear face coverings in any indoor business, service, organization, or establishment that serves the general public. Individuals aged 5 and up are also required to wear face coverings when outdoors and unable to consistently maintain at least six feet of distance from those who are not members of their household.

Individuals are not required to wear a mask if eating or drinking while seated, but face coverings are required when otherwise moving in or about a restaurant or bar premises.

“As we move into this third and final stage of our recovery, I want to sincerely thank our doctors, nurses, and public health officials, our small business community, and, most importantly, the people of Maryland who have pulled together over the last five months to respond to this unprecedented challenge with incredible courage and perseverance,” Hogan said.

Last week, Hogan implored local school boards to immediately take action toward reopening schools for in-person classes.

Although the rate of cases has flattened in Maryland in recent weeks, new cases continue to accumulate in the state with 3,833 positive results over the past seven days. Overall, there have been nearly 110,000 confirmed cases in the state. To date, there have been 3,623 coronavirus fatalities in the state, with another 143 probable tests, according to the Maryland Department of Health’s tracking program. Maryland ranks 12th in per capita deaths, tied with Delaware, and just ahead of Pennsylvania.

As part of the state’s new guidelines, the following gradual reopenings are allowed in Maryland:

• Indoor theaters where live performances occur or motion pictures are shown may open to the general public at 50 percent capacity, or 100 people per auditorium—whichever is less—with appropriate health and safety protocols in place.
• Outdoor venues where live performances occur or motion pictures are shown outdoors may open to the general public at 50 percent capacity, or 250 people—whichever is less—with appropriate health and safety protocols in place.
• Capacity for retail establishments and religious facilities may increase from 50 to 75 percent.

Meanwhile, the Stronach Group—which owns the Preakness Stakes—and the Maryland Jockey Club announced Wednesday that the 145th Preakness will be run will without fans in attendance at Pimlico Race Course on Oct. 3.

“The Stronach Group and the Maryland Jockey Club have been working closely in consultation with local and state health and governmental authorities for the past several months to thoughtfully and safely plan for Preakness 145,” Belinda Stronach, chairman and president of The Stronach Group, said in a statement. “While we had hoped to be able to welcome fans as we have for the past 145 years, the health and safety of our guests, horsemen, riders, team members and the community at large is, and will always be, our top priority.”

Before the birth of her first-born daughter this spring, Jennifer Ramsdell had many plans in the making. She attended prenatal yoga in Hampden. She took birthing classes at the Saint Agnes Hospital. She went over every detail with her mother, mother-in-law, and doula, all of whom would be by her side, along with her husband, Dustin, after the baby arrived on April 13.

“I just wanted to have this huge network of women around me,” says the 28-year-old Bolton Hill resident. “We put a lot of thought into what kind of support I was going to have. There would be many helping hands.”

Three months later, Jenn now sits in their quiet home, nursing Eleanor, who was born a week late after 36 hours of labor. Ellie, as they call her, is a calm, curious baby who just learned how to laugh, which is one of the many little moments Jenn wishes she could share with her loved ones. They aren’t here, due to the novel coronavirus that arrived in Maryland just before her newborn.

“No one else can really go through this journey of parenthood but you, figuring out who you are as a woman and a mother, but in isolation, there’s just this extra layer of loneliness,” she says. “It’s the feeling of mourning—mourning what could or should have been. This is supposed to be such an exciting time of community. When they say it takes a village to raise a child, that feels so real now.”

A month before her due date, Jenn watched anxiously as the world struggled to understand this deadline disease and medical guidelines evolved on a seemingly daily basis as new information came into the Centers for Disease Control and World Health Organization. Before long, she received notice that her doctor’s office would restrict visitors, including partners, for prenatal appointments. Then two weeks out from delivery, word landed that Saint Agnes would only allow one support person at birth, meaning only Dustin, but not her doula or mother, who is immunocompromised, would be present.

“My whole pregnancy suddenly felt like it was spiraling out of control,” says Jenn. “Fear was a huge factor, but there was also this overall frustration, like, holy crap, this is going to impact so many women. I got really worried about the state of motherhood. I knew it was so much larger than just me.”

The Ramsdells were one of many millions of families who brought new life into the world this year despite the global pandemic of COVID-19. A baby is born every eight seconds in the United States, but in 2020, hospitals across the country were also inundated with infected patients, while doctors and nurses tried to remain safe themselves, grappling with shortages of personal protective equipment, or PPE. Elective procedures were put on hold, appointments moved to telemedicine. All the while, maternity wards carried on. Because if there was one thing the coronavirus couldn’t stop as the rest of humanity ground to a halt, it was the arrival of newborn babies.

“This is a strong group of women,” says Jeanne Sheffield, director of Hopkins’ Division of Maternal-Fetal Medicine, referring to pregnant mothers during the pandemic. “They have taken on this disease, they have done their research, they have figured out what they need to do to protect themselves and their children. Just watching them, I am incredibly hopeful that we as a society will get through this. Even in the midst of a pandemic, life happens.”

But by early March, as the first coronavirus cases appeared in Maryland, new rules and restrictions were quickly implemented throughout the state, rattling an experience already rife with emotion and uncertainty.

“In those first few weeks, we just knew so little,” says Sheffield, who worked with the CDC to develop pregnancy-related guidelines while helping her patients navigate the unknowns. “It’s still progressing.”

Almost immediately, screening stations were set up outside of hospital entrances, where incoming patients would be asked questions about their health, have their temperatures taken, and sometimes get tested for COVID-19. Masks were also soon required by all visitors, with doctors and nurses donning extra PPE like N95 masks and plastic face shields.

“Patients never see you without a mask on, which can be difficult from their perspective—having this person taking care of you, seeing all of you, but you don’t even know what they look like,” says Rachel Farbman, labor-and-delivery nurse manager at the Greater Baltimore Medical Center, whose team helped deliver some 1,500 newborns between March and August, with 10 nurses of their own expecting this year. “Beyond that, not much has changed. Our number one priority is still to have a healthy mom, a healthy baby, and a safe delivery.”

Other changes have included permitting earlier discharges after delivery, with stays in many cases reduced by half, and the temporary closure of some nurseries, allowing more in-room time between mother and baby, which studies say improves sleep and breastfeeding. But the most consequential shift has likely been who else is allowed in the delivery room.

“I GOT REALLY WORRIED ABOUT THE STATE OF MOTHERHOOD. I KNEW IT WAS SO MUCH LARGER THAN JUST ME.”

Baltimore maternity wards never saw the outright elimination of visitors as was briefly seen in New York City, but like Saint Agnes, the majority moved to allowing only one support person. Some patients actually welcomed the restrictions, affording them the time to rest and recover postpartum without distractions, but others were left with the difficult decision of choosing between partners, mothers, and doulas, aka birth coaches, who provide emotional and physical support during childbirth.

“As doulas, we work for our clients but are at the mercy of the hospital’s protocols, and I don’t think they’re going to be changing anytime soon,” says Odile Penet, who saw her 20-year practice, which works primarily with hospital births, virtually disappear overnight. “Everything happened so fast. You couldn’t get any information. Clients started to reach out and say, ‘What do we do?’ Their support system was crashing down, and, of course, they were afraid of going to the hospital and being contaminated. We adapted, because that’s what we do as doulas. Every time we go to a birth, we have to adapt.”

This time, adapting meant pivoting to virtual support for her clients, through prenatal and postpartum care, as well as childbirth, even witnessing labor via video apps like Facetime, Zoom, and Skype.

“It was magical, and very strange—basically, we can still be there with our clients, we can help them advocate for themselves and give the partner all of the pieces to be their own super doula, but long term, it definitely won’t replace the physical presence,” says Penet, who hopes to see doulas deemed essential workers.

Given these circumstances, more and more women are even deciding to avoid hospitals entirely, instead choosing to deliver from the comfort of their own homes. It’s a continuation of a trend seen over the last two decades, with out-of-hospital births increasing by 72 percent between 2004 and 2014, according to a 2016 joint study by the University of Maryland and Boston University.

“We’ve had a major influx of clients and we’re busier than ever,” says Bayla Berkowitz, founder of Charm City Midwives. In fact, they’ve had to turn people away, now being fully booked through November and receiving inquiries into the New Year. “It’s nice to see so many people realizing that home birth is a safe, viable option, changing the status quo.”

Accounting for about one percent of all babies born in the United States, home births come with their own set of risks—they are recommended for mothers who are low-risk and without pre-existing conditions such as hypertension and diabetes. But in light of the coronavirus, some still prefer the approach to hospital settings. Like obstetricians, Berkowitz’s team also follows CDC guidelines and wears N95 masks during all visits, including delivery, but does not limit visitors, within reason. She says it’s that personalized support system that draws many mothers to midwifery, especially these days.

Indeed, that’s what inspired Jinji Fraser and her husband, Paul, to change their birth plan in June. In late February, just as the coronavirus began its spread across America, the couple learned they were pregnant with their first child—a boy, due on Halloween. Originally planning to deliver at the St. Joseph Medical Center in Towson, the 37-year-old Lauraville resident connected with a local midwife and doula, and after meeting all of the necessary health requirements, switched to a home birth in her second trimester.

“Having a baby is so big—I can’t believe my body has done this much so far, I can’t believe that a life is surviving inside of me, I couldn’t believe it when I got pregnant, either,” says Jinji, who never thought she’d have children. “Almost immediately, it felt like this was the only thing that I had to do.”

In addition to concerns surrounding COVID-19, as a Black woman, Jinji found herself at the intersection of another health crisis: the racial disparities of childbirth, with Black women four to five times more likely to die during pregnancy than their white counterparts, according to the CDC.

“I just couldn’t believe it, then I started reading, and then I just crumbled under the facts and the reality that I was slipping into,” she says. “I broke down to my midwife about a month ago and told her I was afraid I was going to die. But I’m really lucky that I can afford care that insurance doesn’t cover. If I had to be in the hospital, which is the circumstance for probably 99 percent of Black women in Baltimore, then what? I’d still just be sitting here scared.”

Pregnancy has been a mix of both fear and joy for Jinji, but now, nearing her third trimester, she’s beginning to feel excited—seeing Paul read his parenting books, transforming their home office into a nursery, and finding faith in the racial justice movement taking place across the country, in many ways counting its convergence with the additional time and slower pace of the coronavirus as an unforeseen blessing. This summer, with her newly round belly, she donned a face mask and marched in the streets of Baltimore, holding a sign above her head that read, “Black mamas lives matter.”

“I am so grateful that this moment has been mine,” she says. “It’s just his time to be here. I think those of us who are doing this have been chosen, whether we knew it or not. It couldn’t have been another way.”

“I AM SO GRATEFUL THAT THIS MOMENT HAS BEEN MINE. IT COULDN’T HAVE BEEN ANOTHER WAY.”

Of course, with more than 100,000 confirmed cases in Maryland as of press time, it was inevitable that some pregnant women would eventually contract the coronavirus, and much still remains unknown about the disease’s impact on pregnancy, childbirth, and postpartum.

 “We’re now well over 150 pregnant women in the Hopkins system who have had COVID-19,” says Sheffield, whose team constructed a labor-and-delivery biocontainment unit for positive patients. “Fortunately, the majority—80 to 85 percent—are asymptomatic. Another 10 percent have mild symptoms, like cough or congestion or anosmia, where they can’t smell. We’ve only had a handful of women who have actually required ICU care.”

Mia Taylor is one of the latter cases, having contracted the virus in her last trimester. In a matter of days, the active, healthy, 39-year-old could barely walk, talk, or breathe, and was admitted into the COVID unit at GBMC, where, aside from the doctors and nurses dressed head-to-toe in PPE, visitors were forbidden. Three long and lonely days later, her water broke.

“I was so scared, I didn’t know if I was going to survive, if my baby was going to survive—I thought, I can barely breathe, how am I going to have this baby?” she says. “But I tried to keep calm, and once I got to the point of delivery, I was no longer worrying about breathing or even thinking. I was just worried about having my baby. I don’t know how I did it but by the grace of God.”

Tougher still was the fact that mother and newborn were quickly separated, with her daughter, Melaina, born four weeks early and coronavirus-free on June 6,  transferred to the NICU and Mia back to the COVID unit. The nurses Facetimed her often, but it would be another five weeks before she finally tested fully negative and held her baby—now more than one month old—in her arms for the first time.

“It breaks my heart, it really does—I missed out on that moment to bond with her, that one-on-one time that’s so important,” says Mia, who also lost precious weeks with her one-year–old, Taylor. (The American Academy of Pediatrics no longer recommends most COVID-related separations.) “I wanted to be there, I wanted to take care of her. But at this point, I’m just grateful. My daughter is so strong. She just eats and sleeps. She doesn’t cry. She is such a good baby.”

Mia has regained her health, as well. She can now breathe freely, and her appetite and sense of smell have both returned. But the fear still lingers. She’s afraid to leave her house in Woodlawn for the chance that she might get sick again, but she plays with her kids inside, and occasionally, they all put on their masks together and head to the park for some fresh air.

“I wanted to kick the ground when I got out of the hospital because I was just so happy to see the sunlight,” she says. “I’m just so grateful, to hold my daughter, to be with my family—to be alive.”

Citing lowering coronavirus positivity rates in the state, Gov. Larry Hogan implored local school boards to immediately take action toward reopening schools for in-person classes at a press conference in Annapolis Thursday afternoon.

All 24 school districts in Maryland will begin the 2020-2021 academic year with online instruction only. Hogan repeatedly pointed out that 16 districts currently have plans to bring some students back this fall in hybrid models, but other school districts have decided to wait until the start of the second semester to physically reopen—a cautionary timeline he does not support.

Baltimore City—which welcomed back teachers and staff this week—and Baltimore County,  as well as Anne Arundel, Howard, Montgomery, Prince George’s, and Calvert counties issued statements that they have no intention of foregoing their virtual opening. During a virtual meeting Thursday, Baltimore County Public Schools community superintendent Christina Byers said that while the county school system acknowledges the governor’s recommendations, it is not in a position to immediately address in-person instruction.

Byers said that local superintendents and boards did not receive any advanced notice about the details of Thursday’s announcement.

Hogan, taking a strident tone at times, alleged those boards, as well as administrators, teachers unions, and associations, have failed to do the “hard work [that] lies in developing the safe reopening plans.” “This is simply not acceptable,” the governor said.

“As a result of our improved health metrics, every single county school system in the state of Maryland is now fully authorized to begin safely reopening,” Hogan continued. “Nearly everyone agrees that there is no substitute for in-person instruction. It is essential that we all work together on flexible hybrid plans to safely get some of our kids back into classrooms and into healthy and supportive learning environments.”

By law, the governor of the state does not have the power to mandate when schools open, which is a decision left to local school boards.

In his remarks, Hogan noted encouraging reports that the statewide positivity rate has dropped to 3.3 percent from a peak of 26.9 percent in mid-April.

The benchmark for generally safe reopening of public buildings, according to the CDC, is a 5 percent positivity rate. Maryland’s overall rate has been below 4 percent since August 8, according to state health department methodology. Hogan also stressed that the positivity rate among Marylanders under the age of 35 has now fallen below to 3.79 percent.

That said, Towson University, like other colleges around the country, has already been forced to cancel in-person learning and close residence halls after a concerning number of students tested positive for the coronavirus just before classes resumed this week. In Baltimore City, the Department of Public Works announced Thursday it was suspending curbside recycling pickup because of staff shortages due to the COVID-19 outbreak.

Maryland Senate Majority Leader Bill Ferguson, a former teacher, said he appreciated the Hogan Administration’s publishing of new health metrics for school reopening statewide, but also stated that the new information comes late in the process with schools so close to reopening. 

“These metrics are critical for Maryland schools to have the framework for in-person reopening,” Ferguson tweeted. He added, however, that “expecting districts, administrators, educators, and families to flip the switch in 10 days is simply unreasonable.”

Cheryl Bost, the president of the Maryland State Education Association, expressed frustration with the governor’s rhetoric in a statement late Thursday.

“At a time when educators are focused on working hard to make the best of this year for students, the governor and [state Superintendent of Schools Karen Salmon, who joined Hogan] are focused on throwing school communities under the bus,” Bost said. “We need collaboration and problem-solving, not political theater.”

Bost stated that Gov. Hogan and the superintendent had previously “abdicated responsibility for creating reopening standards and told districts to come up with their own plans, indicating appropriate confidence that local school systems would do what is best for students.”

“In the continued absence of adequate state and federal funds to help schools open safely—to include measures such as rapid testing, certified ventilation systems and needed PPE—this is a recipe for chaos, confusion, distrust, and deepening the inequities that too many of our students face,” Bost said.

Salmon announced the state is making $10 million in grant funding available to help systems that are able to move toward in-person instruction.

“While adherence to these metrics for re-entry into classrooms are not considered requirements, I am strongly encouraging local school systems to utilize our improving numbers and the provided metrics as the driving force for the decision to return to school buildings,” Salmon said. “Health and safety precautions must remain in place once we begin to bring more students back into schools, and school systems should continue to work in conjunction with local health officials to monitor trends in the metrics and any outbreaks at area schools.”

The issues around school reopening are complicated. Educators are concerned about student safety, as well as their own health and that of their families, while also scrambling to address the digital divide. Economists are also worried about the impact on economic recovery if schools don’t reopen. Without schools reopening, many parents will have trouble returning to work.

Hogan dismissed partisan concerns around his push to reopen schools, noting that the Democratic governors of New York and New Jersey, Andrew Cuomo and Phil Murphy, have issued similar statements about reopening classrooms.

Dr. Jinlene Chan, acting deputy secretary for public health services at the Maryland Department of Health, who also spoke at the press conference, sounded a more measured approach than the governor. She said that the new metrics and the guidance being offered at this time by the state is designed to aid in decision-making rather than serve as prescriptive policy.

“There is flexibility that schools have to make decisions about how to best meet the educational needs of their students while taking into account the level of community spread and their capacity to implement the guidelines,” Chan said.

Working mom Jennifer Nolley loved to paint when she was growing up, and she wanted art and creativity to be part of her children’s lives, as well. But the logistics of it all—finding the right supplies, getting prepared, cleaning up—were both challenging and stress-inducing. They took a lot of the fun out of it.

Unhappy with products already on the market, Nolley came up with a solution. She started Tiny Easel, a company that provides art in a box for budding artists—and the busy parents who want to encourage them. The goal, she says, is to make art fun and approachable for children, without being stressful for anyone else.

“I wanted activities that would hold their interest,” Nolley says. “Things that they could enjoy and that I could enjoy without hovering or worrying about the mess.”

Nolley, 37, launched the company this month, both online and with a pop-up shop at Whitehall Mill in Hampden. Its motto is: “For little hands with big ideas.”

Tiny Easel sells art activity kits that contain everything families need to make watercolor paintings, drawings, and sketches. (Think 36-color palettes, brushes, sponges, spill-proof cups, coloring pages, activity guides, and, of course, a tiny easel.) All they need to add is water.

Nolley said she chose watercolors over acrylics because they’re easy to work with and clean up. She added watercolor crayons and pencils to give a variety of mediums.

“Watercolors are amazing for kids,” she said. “They’re washable and non-toxic. Acrylics can dry out, but watercolors last forever.”

Watercolor painting also reminds her of her childhood: “One of the things I remember as a child is doing watercolors with my mom when we would go on vacation,” she says. “She would bring a little set of watercolors and we would paint together.”

That led to other arts-related interests.

“I have always been taking art classes at MICA on the weekends,” she says. “I went to film school. Everything I’ve done has been art-based. I wanted to be a film production designer for years, working on sets. I did en plein air classes. I think everything in my life just keeps coming back to that moment with my mom doing watercolors.”

This is the first retail venture for Nolley, a Baltimore native who graduated from Friends School and got a masters degree in interior architecture from the Corcoran School of the Arts and Design in Washington, D.C.

She started Tiny Easel in addition to her full time job as Developer and Designer for Terra Nova Ventures, a real estate company that was started by her father, David Tufaro, and specializes in the adaptive reuse of historic buildings, including Whitehall Mill and Mill No. 1 in the Jones Falls Valley.

She’s married to Dawson Nolley, a real estate agent with Cummings & Co. Realtors. They live in Ruxton and are raising three children: Elizabeth, 7, Kathryn, 4 and George, 1. She volunteers at Riderwood Elementary School in its Smart Art program, which introduces kindergarteners and first graders to art.

Nolley said she’s had the idea for Tiny Easel for some time, but really started working on it while on maternity leave with her third child last summer. She spent more time developing it while the family was in quarantine during the pandemic. “Being stuck inside with the kids was helpful,” she says, “because it gave us time to try out more things.”

Many of the line drawings in the coloring books grew out of trips she and her children took to the National Aquarium, the Maryland Zoo, and Cylburn Arboretum.

“I’ve been going around Lake Roland a lot during the quarantine, so a lot is also inspired by nature,” she says, flipping through the watercolor book. “This drawing is inspired by my daughter, who always wants more sprinkles on her ice cream. This is inspired by Hilton Carter. He’s a big plant guy. This is a still life. This is a drawing that I created to teach my kids than when you overlap colors, you can get new colors. Jumping in puddles is a big thing for my kids.”

Even the rocket ship on the box, she said, is “inspired by the Maryland Science Center and elements of outer space.”

The target audience for Tiny Easel is children aged 3 to 10, although there’s nothing to prevent older children and adults from buying the boxes, too. The instructions are general enough that users can go in any number of directions. And while Nolley doesn’t promise that Tiny Easel will turn every kid into the next Picasso, she says the idea is simply to introduce kids to painting and let them take it from there.

“My hope is that kids just enjoy painting at an early age and take that into whatever aspect of life they want to,” she says. “Maybe it’s becoming an architect or an interior designer or a graphic designer. Maybe it’s not even specific to design. My hope is that they develop some creative skills from what they’ve learned at an early age, and have fun with it.”

Earlier this month, the Nolleys celebrated Tiny Easel’s debut by turning a merchant space at Whitehall Mill into a pop-up shop for the day.

Andrea Griffin, a real estate agent, bought six Tiny Easel Painter Boxes as gifts for clients and friends. Rachel Tranter bought a box to use herself. Lauren Prendeville said she bought two travel kits for her daughter, Madison, because they were going on a car trip.

Prendeville said she likes Tiny Easel because the paints are watercolor, and that’s different from the usual acrylic or tempera paints.

“It’s something that parents don’t even think of,” Prendeville said. “We buy chunky Crayola paint because we think that’s all kids can handle. This actually teaches them watercolor, which is a more sophisticated form of art.”

Nolley plans to eventually sell each item in the kit separately, so it’s easy to get refills. She said most of the sales will be online, but she’d like to do more pop-up events to spread the word.

In many ways, Nolley said, Tiny Easel represents everything she loves in life and is good at—kids, painting, drawing, design, sparking creativity. If it’s a success, she said, she’d like to devote full time to it. “That would be my dream.”

Dr. Lisa Cooper wants to make it clear that racism is a public health crisis. The director of Johns Hopkins’ Urban Health Institute and its Center for Health Equity, which both work to document and overcome systemic health disparities, explains that the COVID-19 pandemic and protests surrounding the death of George Floyd are actually related.

“It’s interesting that this epidemic of police brutality against African-American communities is colliding with this health epidemic,” she says. “A lot of people didn’t realize that police brutality is not only a terrible social problem, but it leads to all kinds of other problems.”

Problems like mental health issues, drug addiction, and chronic disease, says Cooper, which begin at a young age.

“It starts with African-American children and the ways that they experience racism in school, that they don’t have opportunities to obtain gainful employment, that they get targeted by law enforcement early in life, which impairs their ability to lead more productive lives,” she says. All of which makes them more likely to get sick.

At this point, it’s well known that both Black and Hispanic people are five times more likely to get COVID-19 than whites, which Cooper largely attributes to systemic racism, with many communities of color lacking necessary social protections, like fresh food access, spacious housing, or paid sick leave.

“And then to top it all off, they have poorer access to healthcare or, in many cases, no health insurance,” she says.

Cooper believes the light being shined on these two crises will ultimately help further her organizations’ missions.

“People are starting to see…it’s all related,” she says. “When you don’t take care of the most vulnerable in your society, you put everyone else at risk.”

Most years, my mother, Leslie, and I go all out in planning a birthday extravaganza for my daughters Blair, 8, and Harper, 6. Growing up, “Nana,” as the girls call her, never missed a beat, and she’s still in a perfect rhythm now. In the early ’90s when most of my birthday parties took place, there was no expense spared. I often find myself questioning where she found the time and energy as a single mother to plan it all. In my eight-plus years of motherhood—baby showers included—I’ve subconsciously competed with that early-’90s version of my mother.

This year’s challenge, when my daughter, Harper, turned 6 on May 16, was merely finding the energy to get out of bed to shower after a week’s worth of intense distance-learning, work-related calls, and not nearly enough wine amidst the COVID-19 lockdown.

We kept it simple, but I did miss all the fuss. (Don’t tell my mom.) The overachiever and arts organizer in me wanted to phone in a last-minute call to shut down a full city block in celebration of Harper’s sixth birthday.

But, this year, I’ve lived vicariously through badass creative moms like Rebecca Teaff, founder and chief creative officer of Baltimore-based marketing firm Redstart Creative, and Raina Tyson Smallwood, co-founder of Cedar and Cotton in Southwest Baltimore—who have both gotten creative in making their little ones’ special days memorable despite the restrictions of the pandemic.

Teaff’s son, Liam, who is an only child aside from his furry brother, Edward, recently turned 8. Smallwood’s son, Noah, turned 10 this year and is one of three boys alongside his brother, Jonah, and their family’s newest addition, Maximus—who was born just days after Governor Hogan declared a State of Emergency in mid-March.

“We were a little nervous about how everything was going to be with the lockdown starting up,” Smallwood says about giving birth shortly after stay-home orders went into effect. “We got to St. Joseph’s Hospital and my partner, George, jokingly says, ‘They can take me to jail, I’m coming with you.’”

These powerhouse Balti-moms have found time to work from home while planning epic birthday parties, parades, and puppet shows. They’re tenacious, just like my mom in her early-’90s birthday party planning prime. Here are four valuable lessons I learned from speaking with them about making kids feel special on their solar return under these circumstances:

Go Big, But Stay Home

Invite your family or friends to a socially distanced fête, but add your own tried-and-true traditions for added nostalgia.

“The idea of family and friends gathering was always a big thing for me—I like to keep that up for Liam,” Teaff says. “My mom would always put the china out. We have a family tradition where you get to eat what you want on your birthday. Over the years, I picked things like steak or tacos, which I’m sure at a younger age was pizza.”

Smallwood remembers similar traditions on her special day—all of which can be recreated at a small celebration at home.

“I remember turning four and getting a rainbow-bright birthday cake and some friends coming over,” she remembers. “We did birthday gifts. We’d play pin the tail on the donkey. There weren’t a lot of decorations, but just cake, candles, and everyone singing ‘Happy Birthday,’ that sort of thing. I loved it. Each birthday reminds me that I’m gifted with another year, another lesson, and another chance. That’s the true gift.”

Party Favors or Bust

Use your favorite online sites to deck your home out with your favorite streamers and party favors. Decorate like it’s Christmas in July (or any other month leading up to the winter holidays). You may have to come up with something crafty to occupy the kids while you set up, but it’ll be worth it in the long run.

“This year, pre-coronavirus, my husband, Rob, goes, ‘Let’s have him do like a fun, bouncy house,’” Teaff shares. “We had it all booked and we were really excited. Then we realized a lot of disappointments were going to come in pretty quick succession. We thought, ‘How can we make this an amazing weekend for Liam?’ So I ordered a bunch of swag and we threw up decorations in every room. For Liam, it was like coming down on Christmas morning. I made a Facebook post about how different this b-day would be for him and asked that folks send cards. We got cards from current friends, my old college friends, family, Liam’s sports teams, and he had a lot of stuff to open during the day.”

Go With the Flow

If you’re not feeling a big party this year (I know I wasn’t) that’s more than okay. If you’re expecting or just brought a new child into the world, like Smallwood, err on the side of caution using video conferencing for visits and celebrations.

“I gave birth two and a half weeks before Noah’s birthday,” Smallwood shares. “And my follow-ups with the doctor after delivery have been virtual, which is interesting—most of the baby’s visits are him being held up to the phone. My mom has taken some time off of work to be isolated and has since been able to visit, as well as my partner’s mom, and my best friend, of course.”

Gather From a Safe Distance

Virtual ideas are your friend! Zoom calls and drive-by’s are fun ways to celebrate with loved ones without physically being in the same room.

“Initially we told Noah that everything was closed, so there wasn’t going to be a birthday party,” Smallwood shares. “We told him that maybe in the summertime he could celebrate his birthday with his brother. Noah did not like that! He was really upset. I felt a little bit bad, but it paid off in the end because we snuck around and got gifts and cupcakes. George and I told him that we had a meeting so we sent them all upstairs so that we could bring out the gifts and set up a Zoom. And then once we had everything set up, we called him down. He was so surprised it was totally worth it. We had everyone he knows on the Zoom call waiting for him!”

Teaff went the parade route for Liam: “A friend of ours organized the whole thing for Liam and all we had to do is get him outside,” she says. “But he wanted to play in the backyard and didn’t want to come out. After a few minutes we started to hear the horn-honking from the parade. Liam was saying, ‘What’s happening?!’ He legit had no idea. It was adorable. It was a bunch of school friends, family, his indoor soccer team, and the coach.”

What’s more? Teaff’s father-in-law, an amateur ventriloquist, put on a private puppet show for Liam via Zoom. “You just want your kid to be excited and happy even though it’s kind of crazy circumstances right now,” she says. “So if you can do that, I say mission accomplished.”

As we’ve learned over the past few months, dining out is about so much more than just the food. From the décor to the service to the feeling of being indulged, there’s nothing like a night out on the town. But as more places pivot their way into a new form of existence, everyone it seems, including spots we never would have expected to brown bag (or box) it, is offering food to go.

From Charleston to Orto to Aldo’s Ristorante, fancy food is available for cash (or credit)—and carry (though all are currently open for in-person dining). If you do decide to get carryout with fine-dining leanings, consider making it a festive feast at home.

“I love it when folks do their best to plate up with their best china and really celebrate the table,” says Charleston’s Cindy Wolf. “Offering takeaway allows us to share what we’re doing with more people.”

Follow these tips for the perfect backdrop to your fancy feast:

CENTERPIECES: To make a beautiful bouquet and bring a table to life, look no further than your own backyard. Clip wildflowers, get some greenery, or gather fallen tree branches or twigs (and even feathers) to add a more rustic look to your table. Or gather a collection of potted plants to bring in the outdoors and add some flair.

CONVERSATION STARTERS: Give each member of the table a thought-provoking question to get the conversation going. Some sample starters: If you could travel anywhere in the world, where would it be? If you could eat only three foods for the rest of your life, what would they be? (Our picks would include the two dishes, from Charleston, pictured.)

PLACECARDS: Yes, you’ve likely been staring at the same two
or three people since you began quarantining, but that doesn’t mean you should always sit in the same seat. Make it an art project and design pretty placecards to help your table feel both formal and inviting.

DISHES AND GLASSWARE: You’ve spent a lot on the fare, break out the dishware (and grandma’s glass goblets) you never use to make the night feel extra special.

CANDLES: Dim the lights, find some tea lights or tall tapered candles, and your family will literally be glowing all night.

LINENS
AND UTENSILS: Why not use a white tablecloth, if you have one? Invest in patterned napkins in bright colors to give your table personality. Also consider watching a tutorial on the art of napkin folding—it’s easier than you think. Skip napkin rings and tie ribbons around your flatware at each place setting. And, if you have it, take out the silver.

MUSIC: The sound of silence is great if you’re reading a book or writing a letter. But there’s nothing like a little night music to transport you to another place and add to the celebratory mood, whether your tastes tend toward Top 40, classical, jazz, or reggae.

Shortly after sunrise, on most mornings during this peculiar pandemic-stricken summer, strollers, joggers and dog walkers in Baltimore’s Roosevelt Park go about their routines to the odd rhythm of maple, polyurethane, and aluminum repeatedly cracking against concrete.

The awkward beat is augmented by a unique fusion of frustrated grunts and exasperated exhales followed by the occasional profane exclamation spicing up the cadence. That odd mix of sounds may seem exotic, but anyone who has spent time on city streets, suburban cul de sacs, or in public parks, should recognize the cacophony as the sound of skateboarding.

In the early morning hours, however, it’s not the stereotypical teenaged, mayo boy, Mountain Dew enthusiasts, who create the clamor.

It’s a gaggle of early-morning pushers consisting mostly of professional men in their 30s and 40s. Guys who, prior to COVID-19, spent early-morning hours commuting to work, coaxing reluctant children to get dressed for school, and queuing for Starbucks.

Jarret Jeffery, 35, a married father of three who teaches in Prince George’s County, is among the most dedicated of Hampden’s early-morning skaters. Since schools closed, Jeffery has used the time he would’ve spent driving to work on his board.

“That huge chunk of time that I have now, I’ve been throwing that into spending time with family and skateboarding,” Jeffery says.

Fittingly, Jeffery, bespectacled, about five feet, five inches tall, and wearing a pair of mid top Vans with duct tape on the left front toe, approaches skating with the methodical nature of a science and math teacher.

He occasionally heads to the skatepark with a list of tricks he’s working on, and checks them off as he practices. Doggedly, and adroitly, Jeffery works on moves repeatedly, tweaking his technique after each failed attempt until he lands the maneuver.

On a recent morning, he skated alone on an elevated ramp, diligently practicing his front-side boardslide. Over and over, Jeffrey cruised up the nearly vertical wall of the ramp, pushed his board’s front wheels over the ramp’s metal coping, and used the slick bottom of his board to slide along the ledge before rolling back down the ramp “fakie,” aka with his dominant foot on the front of the board.

“These last few weeks things have just been clicking, and I think that’s because I’ve been consistent with my practicing, and taking breaks too, because I’m an old dude,” he says with a laugh.

John Rohrer, 42, a nurse, and married father of a toddler, skated as a child and again as a teenager before picking up the sport again about six months ago.

An avid biker and Hampden resident, Rohrer says that, as a result of the pandemic, the convenience of the skatepark—especially with a baby at home—has turned skating into his current exercise of choice.

“It’s a good core workout, and it’s quick and easy cause it’s right up the street from my house,” Rohrer says. “I’ve done a lot cycling my whole life, but a lot of fun bike rides, for me, take a lot longer. So this is a lot more conducive to get my activity itch scratched, and it reminds me of being a kid, I guess.”

Rohrer’s not too interested in pursuing the board flips and grinds associated with street skating. Riding a wider board with larger wheels, he focuses on cruising the skatepark’s banks and maintaining momentum over obstacles because he enjoys the speed.

“The park is a lot different from where I skated in high school so it’s a big learning process,” he says, “and way more balanced than I remember. It’s just really fun to go fast, simply put.”

At the other end of the park, 48-year-old Ben, who asked not to use his last name, skates the park’s “bowl” in near isolation.

The discipline of skating in a bowl dates back to the sport’s early days in the 1970s, when pioneering pushers—particularly in drought-stricken southern California—cruised along the walls of empty swimming pools like surfers riding a concrete wave. Cruising in bowls, however, has taken a backseat to other styles of skating in terms of popularity, particularly street skating.

Ben, who said he first began skating between 1985 and 1991, is one of the few pushers at the park who prefers to coast in the bowl, which is set on an elevated perch above the rest of the park.

He rides a wide board, with a single kicktail, and larger wheels—a style popular in the 1980s when “vert” skating was the sport’s most popular discipline that went out of vogue about the time Ben stopped skating.

Ben, who arrives at the park via white BMW crossover, started skating the bowl in Hampden about three years ago, he says, primarily for the same reason most men his age start getting active again.

“I needed to get exercise, and I didn’t grow up with such a wonderful bowl in my backyard,” says Ben, a Massachusetts native.

If there’s been an increase in the number of guys his age skateboarding since the COVID-19 outbreak, Ben says, he wouldn’t know. He chalked that up to his type of skating, which encourages social distancing by default.

“I skate the bowl. No one [else] skates the bowl,” Ben says. “Everyone’s over on the other side.”

Back on that side of the park, John Shea, 43, is one of the more accomplished skaters among the early arrivers.

Shea is one of the few skaters his age who never dropped the hobby for a prolonged period of time, and it shows in the aggressiveness and speed of his skating.

While dynamic with his feet on the board, Shea will never be accused of being loquacious. He’s friendly, and answers questions, but it’s clear being interviewed makes him uncomfortable.

Still, Shea explains what he wants to accomplish by continuing to skate, and the reticent Catonsville resident may have summed up the goals for all the early-bird skaters: “Just roll around and try not to get hurt.”

One chilly afternoon, some 51 years ago, The Beatles gathered for a wind-whipped final performance on the roof of the Apple Corps headquarters in London.

With just a handful in attendance, The Fab Four spaced out in the open air. It had all the makings of the perfect concert by the standards of today’s new normal (minus the masks), plus an unmatched magic still etched in the minds of millions—including WTMD’s Scott Mullins.

Early last month, while brainstorming ways to bring live music back to Baltimore safely amid the ongoing coronavirus pandemic, the Towson station’s general manager and program director considered recreating the scene of the unannounced rooftop session.

“For years, I always thought that was a really cool idea,” says Mullins, who later realized that, much like the iconic concert five decades ago, recreating it would have its hangups. How would the station manage to lug equipment onto a roof (and where would they secure one?) Would people be able to see the concert from the ground? Would it draw too large of a crowd?

That’s when WTMD’s Baltimore Music Coordinator Sam Sessa had the idea to put a concert on a boat.

“Baltimore is a harbor city with thousands of people living and working near the water,” Sessa says. “So we thought we could visit a bunch of neighborhoods in one night and bring live music to so many people with way less effort than hauling all that gear up to someone’s roof deck.”

And if you’re going to put a concert on a boat, why not make it a pirate ship?

This Saturday, WTMD is partnering with Urban Pirates and Stages Music Arts to bring the Pirate Radio Concert—a live, floating, musical performance—to the Baltimore Harbor. With New Orleans-fused funk favorites Rufus Roundtree and Da B’more Brass Factory aboard, Urban Pirates’ flagship will set sail at 6 p.m. in Canton Waterfront Park, making 15-minute stops for performances in Fells Point, the Inner Harbor, Federal Hill Park, and Locust Point before returning to dock around 8 p.m.

Following in the footsteps of cities like Tampa, Florida—which has organized similar setups to answer the call of distanced concert-going—the floating performance will be what Mullins calls “the opposite of a typical music cruise” with both audience and band on board. Instead, listeners have the option of enjoying offshore in compliance with social distancing, or boarding their own vessel for what he hopes will be “a little bit of fun.”

“I just think anything positive for Baltimore right now is what we need to do, and we’re happy to be a little part of it,” says Urban Pirates owner and CEO Cara Joyce. “I have a feeling we’re going to have a trail of boats following us the entire time.”

And who could blame them?

“I’m like what they would call the new Cab Calloway,” says Rufus Roundtree, although fans have dubbed the infectious brass band frontman “Cap’n Crunch” for his signature Masonic Knights Templar hat—a nod to time spent performing with George Clinton and Parliament-Funkadelic.

“There’s no music we can’t tackle and give a good, cheerful festival-like vibe to,” he says. And there’s no party they can’t tackle either. In 2015, Roundtree and his band rolled through the streets of Philadelphia in the back of a dump truck to perform at The Mummers Parade, making it a safe bet that a pirate ship performance will be a piece of cake.

Roundtree hopes listeners walk away from the concert feeling that they’ve regained some of the freedoms lost to restrictions during COVID-19, even if only for a moment.

“With all of that, you need something just to give you a glimpse of hope,” he says, calling the opportunity to create joy for others through music “amazing.” “Music does so much that, you know, it just has to happen. I have no problem being the one to bring it.”

We’re spending more time in our homes than ever before—and that means more time sitting on, using, and looking at our furniture. And for many of us, all of this sheltering in place has been a reminder that our couches and chairs need some serious sprucing up. With that in mind, Mark Schneider of Sofas Etc. thinks the home-furnishings industry might just get a boost when the pandemic is over.

“Overall, business had been fairly good up until the pandemic,” he says. “We’ve continued to serve customers and designers by appointment and phone orders during the outbreak. And it could very well return to the previous volume, God willing.”

Schneider, 68, knows a few things about furniture, home-décor fads, and economic cycles. Growing up, his family was in the furniture business, and his own company, Sofas Etc., with stores in Baltimore and Columbia, has been around for 27 years.

Schneider says his company sells mostly medium-to high-end brands, and its core business is living rooms and dining rooms, as well as bedroom furniture. His key to success, though, has been not just walk-ins, but working with interior designers, especially in upholstery and leather.

“Working with independent interior designers is a large part of our business,” he says, “but we have our own staff designers, as well.”

Running the day-to-day operations now is Mark’s son, Jeremy, 37, pictured, though the elder Schneider is still very involved, doing the buying, working with designers and salespeople, and going to furniture markets twice a year in furniture-centric North Carolina.

“Some of our most popular brands are Sherrill, Precedent, Rowe, Vanguard, and Elran,” says Jeremy, “but we carry lots of other brands, including Stressless, which does a lot of nice leather chairs and ottomans.”

One of the firm’s more modest offerings is office furniture, but the Schneiders see that as another area with potential for growth.

“Even before the pandemic, we were seeing an uptick in business for home offices as more people wanted to work remotely,” says Jeremy. “And now that so many more people have learned to work remotely, that could be a strong sales area in the months and years to come.”

Trohv owner Carmen Brock and I both joke we gave birth the last week of October 2006. Carmen to an amazing shop on the Avenue, and me to my oldest son, Milo. Throughout every milestone—from the terrible twos to the angsty double digits to the Bar Mitzvah stage just this past year—we were both proud mamas.

So hearing that Trohv is closing next month feels like a death in the family. It makes my heart ache. I feel like I should be sitting shiva.

When Trohv—then called Red Tree—opened on the Avenue in 2006, it immediately became a favorite spot for holiday shopping, special gifts (the first thing my daughter, Willa, uttered when she heard about Trohv closing was, “But where will we get your Mother’s Day gifts now?”), items for the home, beautiful jewelry, and funny cards.

“When we first opened up people were trying to figure out what we were and what we were doing,” recalls Carmen. “People would come in asking for wigs, hair dryers, and sports bras—I loved that so much,” she laughs.

In my 14 years at Baltimore magazine, first as Style Editor and now as HOME and Weddings Editor, I have probably pulled 6,000 items to photograph for various shoots. Carmen always said yes. Even if I busted through the door breathless, gasping “trivet”—something vital I thought was missing from my latest styled shoot that was happening in five minutes—she would always say, “no problem” and have me quickly on my way. We’ve pulled tables and chairs and vases and books and jewelry and baskets. I remember at one point, the late Baltimore magazine executive editor Dick Basoco calling me into his office, “No. More. Trohv,” he admonished. That only lasted a few weeks before I was back there again.

Since I’ve known Carmen for so long, I was honored to be sent a Google document to sign up for shifts and help out the last few weeks the store is in business. The crowds have been huge (lines wrap around the block with only a few customers inside at a time) and if it could help Carmen and her associates, including Dawn Hudson and Bree Fischvogt, of course I would do it. My daughter and I spent a few hours there this past Sunday zhuzhing, rearranging, and, yes, shopping. Even with everyone coming and going and wanting to bask in the light that is Carmen, she made my daughter feel like she was number one. She gave her tasks, trusted her to answer the phone, and wrote everything Willa would need to know on a scrap of paper in her beautiful handwriting. That is the Carmen aura: freshly baked doughnuts, puppies, and a bouquet of peonies all wrapped into one.

I was also able to witness so many approaching Carmen—it’s so hard not to wrap her in a big hug—and telling her “this shop was my favorite.” Or “I bought my most beloved gift here.” Or “I came to a pop-up and it was amazing.” Ohh, the pop-ups. So many good ones.

“We did this ‘Beers and Spears’ event in 2012 where we featured Union Craft—they were really new—and Gordy’s Pickles,” Carmen remembers. “It was a really fun thing to do.” And then there were all the events with Damian Mosley from Blacksauce Kitchen. And truly one of the best gatherings involved Krystal Mack and the release of Cherry Bombe: The Cookbook. Krystal brought together local female chefs and they “all came to the shop and made amazing food,” Carmen recalls.

In my forever memory, a beautiful blanket Carmen gifted my daughter at her birth in 2009, is now my 9-year-old’s most beloved lovey. It’s probably in 17 million family photos and will always make me think of Trohv. (That and the smell of rose hips and anytime anyone mentions store windows—Trohv’s were the best.)

And on Facebook, so many stories of artists and makers repeat over and over that Carmen always welcomed them. “Trohv is one of my favorite shops anywhere and Carmen is the sweetest person on earth,” commented Elisa Shere. “They were the first ‘big’ store that approached me about wholesaling my jewelry after I quit my ad agency job.”

My friend Kate Beck posted, “It feels larger than the fact that Carmen was one of the first to make shelf space in her beautiful shop for my jam, and the enormity of her generosity towards me (and my little business) at that time. Larger than the faith they had in my quirky creativity when I borrowed items for photo shoots. And larger than the smiles, hugs, and high fives received time and time again when I went in there to chat about another nutty new business idea…”

I don’t want to give up valuable space in my Trohv eulogy to address the why. But I will say it didn’t have to be like this. Small businesses should have been given a lifeline. Now, this city, specifically Hampden, won’t be the same. It’s hard to believe all these empty storefronts are the only answer.

Trohv is the heart and soul of this community—sponsoring Stoop Stories, Pile of Craft, Skatepark of Baltimore, among a million other things. Hosting crafters and dreamers. Always saying yes. The ripple effect of this closure will be felt by many.

Asking Carmen what her next move will be is like asking a newly engaged bride when the wedding day is…we have to give it some time. I have my own fantasies that involve a Champagne bar and a curated selection of items. Or pairing up with a local chef for a restaurant and mercantile combo, like Jacoby’s in Austin. I just know Carmen won’t be sidelined for long.

“It has been the joy of my life to have a small business in Baltimore,” Carmen says. “For me, Trohv felt like a laboratory that sort of became a personal love story, and I will be forever grateful for the opportunity to have worked, hustled, lived, and loved the many creative people in this beautiful town. So many people have been involved: friends, families, community members, and artists, and they are all a really big part of raising Trohv.”

And even though there have been tears, there are also big belly laughs. “We have enormous pieces of furniture and often they come wrapped in big cardboard boxes,” Carmen says. “It became a tradition: I started hiding inside of them. So when a person on staff and sometimes a customer—it was always during open hours—came in, I would jump out of it or wait until they opened it and try to move it,” she says laughing.

The thing that is most genuine about Carmen, aside from her wanderlust and wanting the world to be a better place, is that she truly gets joy from other people. She’s fueled by their energy. It’s hard for her to take a compliment because she wants to put the attention on YOU.

But Carmen, please listen up. I hope you understand why you are so loved. I hope you know the huge imprint you leave behind. Thank you for Trohv.

Of all the business sectors impacted by the COVID crisis, the food-service industry has been among the hardest hit. Between March and June, The National Restaurant Association—which represents nearly 500,000 food service establishments—forecasts a loss of $145 billion in revenue, and more than eight million restaurant employees laid off or furloughed at the height of the shutdown. As the National Restaurant Association’s executive vice president of public affairs, Sean Kennedy has his finger on the pulse of the culinary landscape across America. We caught up with Kennedy from his home in Washington, D.C., to share his thoughts on the state of the industry.

How were restaurants doing before COVID?
As we moved into the first quarter of 2020, the signs were encouraging. Spending was up. We thought this would be one of our better years for the industry and that we were fully out of any signs of economic recession. People were not talking about expanding their businesses, but they began the spring of 2020 with optimism that this would be a good starting point for further growth looking into 2021.

And then what happened in mid-March?
On March 14, which was a Saturday, Hoboken, New Jersey, was the first city to shut down dining operations effective at midnight. Suddenly, you have an industry that was literally preparing for St. Patrick’s Day and Mother’s Day that found itself shut down on a nationwide basis.

How many restaurants are projected to shut down permanently?
That’s a really tough question. You have to make assumptions about how long the pandemic will last and what the reopening timeline will be. What everyone is discovering are the lingering effects of the pandemic, particularly in hotspot states in the Sun Belt. That’s led many states to roll those requirements back. Over past two weeks nationwide, the state and local governments have reclosed 100,000 restaurants [which just happened this week in Baltimore City.] Restaurants are not designed with an on-off switch. Restaurants are designed to be in use seven days a week, roughly 14 to 16 hours a day. It’s a very thin profit margin of four-to-six percent and that assumes a full house, particularly a full house in the high season, which is what we’ve been in since March 16. The health consequences of the pandemic have been awful, so I don’t want to appear dull to that, but the timing of this was particularly challenging for restaurants because it is this period when we can afford to save enough money, so that we can afford to stay open with the full contingent of staff in the leaner months when it’s cold outside.

“Restaurants are not designed with an on-off switch. Restaurants are designed to be in use seven days a week, roughly 14 to 16 hours a day.” —Sean Kennedy

Pivot has become the word of the year. How have restaurants pivoted?
What has been really remarkable about this industry is how quickly so many small businesses redefined themselves and their business models literally over a 10-day period. Restaurants that swore they would never do takeout and delivery went back to basics and said, ‘How do we make something that is going to be delicious and enjoyable, and so distinctly identifiable to this restaurant, but can travel through a third-party delivery or can be picked up at a counter?’ It required a lot of innovation. Another thing is cocktails to-go. That doesn’t sound like a big one, but the margins on cocktails to-go are such that for some restaurants that’s almost 20 percent of their monthly revenue. One of the new things this has brought to light is that when people order a takeout Mexican meal, they want to get their favorite margarita prepared by the restaurant.

Are there any other examples of pivots that you’ve seen?
A lot of restaurants are making their menus simpler. They have fewer dishes with fewer total ingredients that the kitchen needs to have. This helps lower costs and increase efficiencies in the back of the house.

What are some of the bigger struggles right now?
Probably the biggest fear we have right now is these restaurants that are being closed down again. It is so capital-intensive to open up a restaurant. At least a third of your costs are perishable goods. If you get it wrong on how many people will walk through your doors or the state shuts you down again, that’s a lot of inventory that literally has to be given to employees for their families or food banks. With four-to-six percent profit margins, you can’t be wrong too many times.

Can you talk about hygiene and safety in restaurants in the age of COVID and its impact on the bottom line?
The restaurant industry has really been at the forefront of hygiene, cleanliness, and safety. We are highly regulated as an industry for food-borne illnesses already. Restaurants pivot quickly on how to deal with airborne viruses like coronavirus, so we have the protocols in place, but the challenge becomes what you do if you are operating at a capacity with restrictions. Your fixed costs like rent remain the same, but now you’re spending more money for things like training and PPE. What do you do with prices? Do you increase prices, or put in a COVID surcharge? Do you reduce the number of people working in restaurants? It has been a challenge for so many restaurant owners.

“If you get it wrong on how many people will walk through your doors or the state shuts you down again, that’s a lot of inventory that literally has to be given to employees for their families or food banks. With four-to-six percent profit margins, you can’t be wrong too many times.”

Is there one type of restaurant that will fare better than another?
If you’re not in a takeout and delivery space, you’re not going to exist. Most high-end restaurants might be able to afford to weather the storm a little longer because they are destinations in and of themselves, but with most restaurants what we are seeing much more of is that they are more attuned to third-party delivery or doing takeout. We know it’s sticking with millennials—we are waiting to see what consumers who are older than millennials are going to do when we are in a post-pandemic world. Will they return to the dine-in experience in the same numbers? There’s a lot of uncertainty right now because even in some communities with the 50 percent capacity, they’re still not seeing full houses. We don’t have the confidence level from consumers that our country needs to have right now.

Are there any other trends you’re seeing in the industry right now?
The other trend we will see is smaller footprints from a real-estate perspective. Smaller might be better. You’re going to have to find a way to social-distance if you have an enormous physical space but can’t put many tables in there. You need to use kitchen space and dining space more efficiently to maximize the revenue that comes out of that. Also, we’re all looking to see what the rise of the ghost kitchen will be. Is there going to be more of an effort to do virtual restaurants that just do takeout? So, it’s the same quality of food, the same kind of a meal, but it’s designed to be consumed at home and made in a kitchen that’s more economically feasible. It’s a trend you’re going to see seeing more of nationally.

The average restaurant has only 16 days of cash on hand—that’s one of the lowest for small businesses of any industry. The biggest misconception that we get with policymakers is that they go into a restaurant, see a full house, and they say, ‘These guys must be raking it in.’ But what they don’t appreciate is that just to eke out a five- percent profit margin, a restaurant needs to be a full house almost every night of the year. If you do that, you can keep your doors open. This could not be coming at a worse point for us now.

“When you talk to people about what they miss the most, it’s always about not being able to go out to a restaurant.”

Despite the hurdles, why are we continuing to dine out?
This has really demonstrated the importance of restaurants during the times of crisis. Usually, if there is a hurricane or a fire that takes down a community, the first thing to reopen is a restaurant and that restaurant immediately goes into support mode. They are either supporting first responders or they are supporting families who are still without power or don’t have the wherewithal to make a meal. This is coming at a time when our entire industry was shut down simultaneously. When you talk to people about what they miss the most, it’s always about not being able to go out to a restaurant. This is anecdotal, but always in the top three. People have their favorite place. It gives them a feeling of not only comfort, but that everything is going to be okay. They can still get their favorite dish.

Who will be hardest hit?
The folks that are really going to suffer the most are the smallest restaurants. If you are a small independent or a small franchise owner, you have so much less coverage right now. You have less access to less capital. You are a lot more vulnerable. And for the restauranteurs and the chefs, that’s their proving ground. It can’t be only larger restaurant groups or larger chains or independents that are sustainable. We need to make sure that all segments of the industry are somehow able to find a way to survive. It’s such a delicate ecosystem and we want to do everything we can to preserve it.

We all know Baltimore Restaurant Week as a summer treat for industry professionals and residents alike. But this year, with the coronavirus causing temporary shutdowns of all non-essential businesses in the spring, most of the city’s restaurants are in a precarious position. While trying to adjust to new business models, they are also working to keep their employees and customers safe and, ultimately, keep their doors open.

“When the shutdown hit in March, we had a lot of questions about whether we could move forward with the promotion,” says Michael Evitts, Senior Vice President of Communications & Brand Strategy at Downtown Partnership, which co-organizes the event with Visit Baltimore.

Yet another curveball came this week when Mayor Bernard C. “Jack” Young made the decision to close all restaurants for indoor dining for two weeks effective Friday, July 24—the day that Restaurant Week was slated to begin—due to a spike in COVID-19 cases in the city.

Although the 10-day promotion, running through August 2, will undoubtedly look a bit different this year, more than 60 spots are on board to offer dining discounts for carryout, delivery, and outdoor service.

Keeping the event going meant long conversations with chefs and restaurant owners about what Restaurant Week would look like. Every spot faces their own set of unique challenges, ranging from low staff to limited sidewalk space for outside dining. (Luckily, the implementation of parklets—converted parking spaces-turned-al fresco dining areas—have helped to facilitate outside seating for many restaurants that may not have originally had the space.)

Taking feedback from these conversations, organizers decided that this year, restaurants can create their own specials as opposed to requiring the typical $35 three-course meal. By loosening the guidelines for participating spots—and reducing registration costs from $175 to $25—this summer’s event will include many eateries that don’t typically partake, embrace participation from coffee shops and fast-casual eateries, and place an emphasis on supporting Black-owned businesses.

“People are understanding now that when you support Black entrepreneurship, you’re helping to keep Black workers employed,” says Keyia Yalcin, owner of Fishnet inside Mount Vernon Marketplace. “So it’s really part of feeding an ecosystem and being thoughtful and intentional with your dollar.”

With so much to offer, it may be hard to choose. So, here’s a taste of some local favorites, Black-owned restaurants, internationally inspired cuisine, and coffee shops included in this year’s Restaurant Week lineup.

Charleston
For fine dining, guests can visit Charleston in Harbor East, where award-winning chef Cindy Wolf works her magic on cuisine inspired by a blend of regional and international techniques. For its very special Restaurant Week debut, Charleston will offer guests a five-course dinner served with crab soup, local heirloom tomato salad, pan-roasted sea scallops, grilled wild rockfish, and raspberry choux au craquelin for dessert. $75

Southeastern Roastery Coffee Lab
Those in the mood for a pick-me-up can find daily deals at Southeastern Roastery on Fort Avenue. The four-year-old spot with roots in Virginia and Washington, D.C. is a café dedicated to mindfulness and community outreach. Customers can enjoy curbside pickup and carryout options from a calendar of unique specials every day of the week, including the debut of new coffee and tea spritzers, bagel options, and recipe demos on Instagram live.

Orto
This Italian spot in Station North has some stellar carryout offerings. During Restaurant Week, the team is throwing in a free bottle of wine with purchases of $70 or more. Enjoy a special three-course prix-fixe menu that features options such as chilled corn soup, chicken leg confit with lemon herb couscous, and a brioche doughnut filled with passionfruit curd.

Miss Carter’s Kitchen
Known for its delicious soul food and fresh seafood, Miss Carter’s Kitchen is offering a range of meal options including homemade alfredo, crab cakes, and baked mac and cheese. With locations on both Liberty Street and Edmondson Avenue, there’s more than one place for customers to indulge with carryout or by requesting a delivery.

Wight Tea Company
Whether you’re looking to start your day with a warm cup of tea or seeking some light refreshments later in the afternoon, this favorite inside Hampden’s new Whitehall Market has many options for tea-enthusiasts. The sibling-run shop sells handcrafted blends in flavors such as Sage Rose White Tea, Blueberry Basil Rooibos, and Fireside Fig. (Another can’t-miss is the color-changing Butterfly Glitter Lemonade.) Walk in or call ahead to inquire about Restaurant Week deals.

Fishnet
While its Mt. Vernon location has only been around for a year, this seafood spot has been running locations in Maryland for nearly nine years. Since the pandemic, Fishnet has had to shift to delivery and carryout only, but owner Keyia Yalcin says she is finally getting the hang of it. This week’s promotions will be offered on their website. Guests who spend $15 or more can apply the promo code #fishnet to their order for $5 off. $15+

La Calle Restaurant
Craving Mexican-inspired cuisine? This downtown destination fuses Mexican traditions with modern flavors. Guests may choose to reserve an outdoor table or carry out to enjoy a customizable three-course lunch that features dishes like pozole de pollo, empanadas de hongos, carne asada, and dessert. The promotion also includes a three-course dinner option that comes with a complementary margarita. $20-$35

Jazz+Soju
For dishes such as Korean fried chicken and bulgogi, look no further than this restaurant in Locust Point. Specials include a two-course lunch that allows customers to pair appetizers like sake butter shrooms or Brussels sprouts with yuzu meatballs, wings and fries, or fire beef. For those seeking dinner options, Jazz + Soju will offer a combination of an appetizer, two courses, and dessert. $15-$35

Rusty Scupper
This Inner Harbor classic offers meals from brunch to dinner. Guests can enjoy the waterfront views with weekday deals like the three-course supper, which comes with a choice of a salad or crab soup appetizer, an entrée, and dessert. $35

What to do when you’re bored and anxious at home during the COVID-19 lockdown?

For many Baltimoreans, the answer is gardening—turns out, it’s good for the soul. And that’s the phenomenon that Pete Bieneman is seeing every day at Green Fields Nursery and Landscaping on the border between Roland Park and Mt. Washington.

“Most people are telling me they’re stuck at home with little to do and are turning to their garden for relief,” says Bieneman, the longtime general manager at the 97-year-old business. “And many parents are looking for projects that they can do with their kids at home. Gardening offers lots of valuable lessons. What we didn’t anticipate was the primordial need to plant—gardening is always a great stress reliever.”

And it’s not just the lifelong dirt-diggers getting in on the act: People are trying gardening for the first time, too.

“We have heard from many beginners, and perhaps the seasonal timing of this crisis has been a small blessing in that people can get outside,” he says. “Our always beautiful Baltimore spring has been a pleasant distraction and inspired so many to try their hand at gardening.”

Topping the list of things people are trying to grow are herbs and vegetables, he says, especially basil, cilantro, tomatoes, and hot peppers—which may reflect some sort of end-of-the-world prepping mentality, or be related to the home cooking many are now attempting with extra hours on their hands. But flowering trees and shrubs have also been in huge demand, along with blooming perennials and annuals, says Bieneman.

Like the other businesses that are allowed to stay open, Green Fields has taken additional precautions at the store, as well as among its landscaping crews, which remain busy.

“We are staying healthy and have implemented social-distancing protocols, as well as limiting traffic in the nursery,” say Bieneman. “Of course, all staff are required to wear masks and we have increased our cleaning and disinfecting.”

One factor helping to drive business—and allay fears among customers—is the outdoor nature of nurseries. “It allows you to maintain good space,” he says. “We continue to monitor the numbers of customers in the nursery and many do not enter at all, as they opt for curbside pickup.”

So is the therapy working?

“I had a customer say yesterday that she could feel the endorphins rise when she was planting!”

[Editor’s Note: On Tuesday, July 21, Baltimore County Public Schools also made the official decision to continue online learning through January 2021.]

Baltimore City Public Schools will open the 2020-2021 school year virtually, delaying the start of a planned hybrid in-person option until later this fall, school system CEO Sonja Santelises announced in a public letter today addressed to parents, students, and others.

“The past four months have been unlike anything we have experienced before in Baltimore City Public Schools,” Santelises wrote in her letter. “We closed school buildings to slow the spread of a global pandemic, and the heavy use of online learning and video contact with teachers forced each of us to adjust in ways we never dreamed. I am grateful for all your support and willingness to fight alongside us to make sure each student has an opportunity to continue their learning.”

Baltimore City follows similar decisions made by public schools in Howard, Harford, and Prince George’s counties last week amid once-again rising COVID-19 cases and hospitalizations in Maryland. Students in those counties will continue distance learning at least through January 2021.

Anne Arundel County Public Schools also announced Monday afternoon that they will be providing online-only instruction during for the first semester of the 2020-2021 calendar.

Meanwhile, Baltimore County and Carroll County public schools are still considering reopening schedules. Baltimore County Public Schools Superintendent Darryl Williams told The Baltimore Sun last week that he is leaning toward remote learning with a phased-in return for the 2020-2021 academic year. “We’re looking at safety first as a driving factor,” Williams said.

The agenda for Baltimore County’s Tuesday Board of Education meeting includes discussion on the school district’s scheduled reopening plan for the fall.

Santelises, who said Baltimore City Public Schools will provide an update on further plans by Oct. 16., also proposed a calendar change to the Baltimore City Board of School Commissioners that the first day of school be moved back Sept. 8, following the Labor Day weekend, to allow additional time for professional learning for staff.

“City Schools strongly believes some form of in-person learning is critical for a student’s academic success, mental health, and emotional well-being,” Santelises said. “However, we do not want to rush to act based on your recent feedback, as well as health trends in our community and nationally. This moment is a vital time, and preparation for students and families is important.”

To date, Maryland, which has the 10th highest per capita death rate in the country, has lost 3,252 citizens to the novel coronavirus—as well as at least another 130 “probable” fatalities. After cases and deaths shot up dramatically this spring before peaking and ultimately falling after stay-at-home-orders were enacted, Maryland’s positive cases have begun climbing again after reopening plans were phased-in.

According to the most recent modeling, the death toll in Maryland is expected to top 4,200 citizens by Nov. 1.

In a thread on Twitter Monday, Gov. Larry Hogan requested the Trump Administration extend the national public health emergency, which is set to expire this Saturday. He also called for other federal action, including an appeal to Congress for educational funding and the need to pass a coronavirus relief package that provides funding needed by state and local governments whose budgets and payrolls are facing dramatic cuts as the economy continues to struggle.

On March 16, the Creative Alliance marquee signaled changes afoot for the Baltimore arts community. Instead of its usual lineup of jazz concerts, burlesque acts, comedy nights, and film festivals, the square black letters simply read: “Wash your hands! Support local artists! Fly a kite!”

Like other arts spaces across the city and state, the Highlandtown institution, known for its eclectic, diverse events and exhibits over the last 25 years, had closed its doors due to the arrival of coronavirus. “What used to be this vibrant place was suddenly so quiet,” says communications director Heather Keating.

What’s a venue to do when it can no longer host crowds inside its gallery or theater? Almost immediately, they had their answer: Move outside—and online—but it didn’t come without soul-searching.

“The truth is, it’s been hard,” says performance director Josh Kohn. “We’ve had two decades to figure out how to create these beautiful moments on a stage with great sound and wonderful lights and suddenly that didn’t exist anymore. But we’ve been moved by the way Baltimore has come through with energy, love, and financial support. It encourages us to keep going.”

Aimed at keeping audiences engaged and artists employed, outside-the-box offerings were quickly rolled out, like a Sidewalk Serenades outdoor concert series, followed by weekly drag storytimes on Facebook Live, weekend quarantine dance parties on Zoom, monthly CSA-like art deliveries, and an ongoing neighborhood window gallery.

“What we’ve really learned from this experience is that adaptation is creativity,” says executive director Gina Caruso.

As Maryland slowly reopened in late May, Creative Alliance was in the stage of thinking about what meaningful programming might look like after COVID-19. In the months ahead, they’re investing in streaming technology, weighing options for limited audiences, and still coming up with new ideas every week.

“We’re having a lot of conversations about what it means to reopen as an arts organization,” says Kohn. “How can we fit our creative vision into these new paradigms that are ever-shifting? This new world, as limiting as it has been, is also super freeing.”

Since its inception in 1982, Baltimore has never seen a summer without Artscape, the city’s annual free arts festival and the largest of its kind in the country. But this year, in the wake of Mayor Bernard C. “Jack” Young’s decision to cancel all public events of more than 250 people in an attempt to limit the spread of COVID-19, there will be no stages or vendors or massive crowds along Mount Royal Avenue on what is always, inevitably, the hottest weekend of the year.

The same goes for so many other events that have become synonymous with the sweltering season in Baltimore. Most residents can’t remember a time when locals didn’t gather to watch the Inner Harbor fireworks on the Fourth of July, or to celebrate the cultural contributions of African Americans at AFRAM in Druid Hill Park, or to take to the streets for the Baltimore Pride Parade or Baltimore/Washington One Caribbean Carnival.

“I always tell people who don’t live in Baltimore that summers in Baltimore are the best,” says Alysha January, local blogger and founder of Discover Charm City. “The city just comes alive.”

These time-honored events have become so ingrained in who we are as a city—not to mention the immense economic impact that they have on local artists, businesses, restaurants, and hotels. Artscape alone is estimated to bring in just over $28 million. (In an effort to support those who would have participated this year, organizers with the Baltimore Office of Promotion & the Arts will host a virtual Artscape Artists’ Market August 21-30. Applications are open until July 24.)

Although social distancing measures are essential in flattening the coronavirus’s curve, it’s hard not to lament the loss of these neighborhood celebrations that bring our communities together.

“This summer will, for sure, look different without our beloved summer festivals and other gatherings,” January says. “But you know what? Baltimore always finds a way to pull through.”

As the summer reaches its peak, we turn to local artists, musicians, and business owners to hear about what they miss most:

Amanda Mack
Owner, Crust by Mack
As a kid I grew up a few blocks over from the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra. As the summer grew hotter, I got more and more excited because I knew Artscape was coming! It was my all-time favorite Baltimore festival because it was the first time I saw so many people of color celebrated and supported for their gifts—for producing a tangible product with their bare hands that hundreds of people flocked to buy. To me, it was a true hustler’s marketplace. And I took pride in that…As a family business, I was looking forward to the opportunity to be an official vendor at Artscape this year. My entire family was going to be part of the experience. I thought about the vendors whose businesses depend on festival season and asked myself, “What is the long-term plan for small business recovery?” I remain patient and do my best to stay positive. We are all navigating the best we know how.

DDm
Musician
What I will miss most is the music community. I love seeing other artists and catching up with them. Our local festivals are where everyone usually puts on their best shows. Since Artscape is literally in my backyard every year, this summer is sure to feel strange without it

Jason Bass
Co-founder, The Night Brunch
I have the highest form of belief and love for this city. This is a time to respect health over wealth, but we also need leadership that can provide a brighter vision for the future. So we cancel city events until August 31—well, why didn’t they explore how to execute these events virtually or as a hybrid? Why can’t we have the fireworks show and lift spirits? [Did they consider] how many people would be happy to watch them on local news or online? Why didn’t they work with festival planners and content creators to develop a new experience, therefore allowing the opportunity for small businesses to sell art, clothing, and food virtually? We need to reopen, function with some bits of normalcy, and operate our businesses with innovation and trust.

Hunter Hooligan
Musician
I’d like to see the city follow up these appropriately precautionary cancellations with transparency on how they plan to get the money from the budgets of those festivals back in the pockets of its local, working-class artists and creators who would have been providing the content. Grants seem like a great opportunity for that. We are “out of sight” right now, by no choice of our own, but we cannot be “out of mind”…There are many working-class artists here who plan their year around the income from Artscape, Pride, and other summer festivals—which are a huge part of the arts economy. Professionally, it’s difficult knowing that we can no longer count on that income. Personally, I always look forward to these celebrations. They are built into my internal calendar, like any holiday. It’s going to be like a year without Halloween, Thanksgiving, or Christmas.

Eze Jackson
Musician
What I will miss most is Artscape weekend. I’ve thrown an Artscape after-party every year for the past six years, the last three being at Metro Gallery. My party is a chance for me to bring together a mix of artists I enjoy personally, so the crowd is mixed and always fun. The whole weekend is a chance for me to see my friends perform and get exposed to artists I haven’t seen before. I rarely make it to see any of the big mainstage acts because I’m always moving around. I love it—even the heat. Last year, D. Watkins and I got to do back-to-back DJ sets and we literally turned Charles Street into one of the biggest outdoor dance parties that night. It felt like the best representation of a Baltimore night that I could think of.

Aaron Jones
Owner, Bushelers of Baltimore
Born and raised in Baltimore, I always looked forward to events [like Artscape, AFRAM, and the Fourth of July]. These are traditions that keep our city together. Without them, something will be missing. Despite everything, I think we will all find innovative ways to connect intimately with our loved ones—and maybe even create new traditions.

Liz Vayda
Owner, B. Willow
The loss of these traditions is surreal. We’re programmed to seek predictability and routine, and this pandemic has been anything but. To me, having a summer without Remfest, Artscape, etc. feels off, for sure, but humans are incredibly adaptable beings. We will adjust, we will innovate, we will come together, and we will create beauty and joy out of this. Baltimore has a knack for that—working together, supporting each other, and seeing the larger picture. I think all of us have a new appreciation for being able to experience closeness, whether it’s with people we love, in a crowd listening to live music, or at a theater watching a production. When we’re finally able to experience this feeling on a regular basis again, we will all appreciate it on an entirely new level. There’s a lot of good in that.

Editor’s Note: Some of these responses have been edited for length and clarity.

I wake up with a fever of 102 in the middle of a global pandemic. The first thing I should do, of course, is get tested for coronavirus. Not just for me, but everyone I have been in contact with recently—my husband, son, parents, and co-workers—but this doesn’t happen. My initial symptoms are insignificant. A few days earlier, on March 13, my head felt warm and buzzy, but perhaps I’m being paranoid? Maryland has just closed schools and encouraged people to stay at home and to social distance, and my son and I take walks around the neighborhood with our dogs. By Sunday March 15, I feel strange, but not terrible. I suspect a fever but none of our thermometers are working, so my husband orders batteries from Amazon, because there are no thermometers in stock at any of the drugstores near my house. I spend an hour combing through our bathroom closet, throwing away dozens of expired medications.

On Monday, the batteries have arrived. I officially have a fever of 102. I shiver, sweat, and ache in every bone and joint. I have no appetite, no sense of taste or smell. I am so tired I stay in bed all day. The only escape from this misery is sleep. I call my primary care physician who asks if I have been out of the country within two weeks (I haven’t) and if I have come into contact with anyone who had tested positive (nope). He asks if I have a sore throat, cough, or shortness of breath, then the primary symptoms of coronavirus besides a high fever. (I do not.) I ask if I can get a COVID-19 test and am shocked to learn that I do not qualify.

In the middle of an exponentially expanding outbreak, when thousands are dying daily, and the only tool we have to track and contain this virus is a test, a person with a 102-degree fever does not qualify? What kind of absurd, dark comedy am I living in? My doctor’s instructions are to stay home, hydrate, take Tylenol for the fever, and rest. He says to call him if my current symptoms worsen, or if I develop respiratory issues.

My husband moves into the guest room and forces me to drink Pedialyte several times a day, which is disgusting, but I can’t taste it anyway. I sleep for several days, rarely getting up, and when I’m awake, I read articles about the virus and our government’s lack of a coherent response that infuriate and terrify me. I think I’m getting worse, I tell my husband. He tells me to stop reading the news.

I didn’t know then that COVID-19 symptoms fluctuate wildly, that there will be periods where I feel almost normal and want to eat actual food or spend time out of bed, potentially infecting my family. Over and over I think, finally, the worst is over, only to have the fever return.

My husband and son have no symptoms, so we assume that I have the regular flu, an unfortunate coincidence, since both of them had gotten flu shots and I didn’t. After a nasty few days, it seems I am on the mend. On Wednesday, March 18, I read a novel and watch a movie with my family, sitting a few feet away from them. But that night, I feel a pinching in my lungs, a dry cough when I try to inhale, as if someone had tightened a belt around my chest. I can’t take a full breath.

I wake up at 3 a.m. with a stabbing pain in the left side of my chest. Is it my heart? Are my lungs collapsing? I can feel the steam rolling off me, and I’m lying in a puddle of sweat. I lie in bed for a while longer, wondering if I’m dying from COVID-19, and worse, if I have infected the people I love. At this point, it is just the beginning, but I don’t realize that yet.

Thursday morning, I receive a flurry of texts from friends and colleagues. Am I better yet? How am I doing? Have I gotten tested? Have I talked to my doctor? Have I seen the latest idiotic thing our president has said? Do I still have a fever? It feels like a personal failure to tell all of them that, no, I am not better, and yes, I still have a fever.

“I wake up at 3 a.m. with a stabbing pain in the left side of my chest.”

I call my doctor that morning, the minute his office opens. My sickness has gone respiratory, I tell him, thinking that now I will finally be tested. I have shortness of breath and a cough, in addition to the fever, which shoots up every time the Tylenol wears off. I am so weak, so tired, and in so much pain. I am shocked to find out that I still do not qualify.

On Sunday, March 22, eight full days since I first fell ill, I awake to a splitting headache coupled with new dizziness. Am I getting worse? Or is my body just overtired from fighting this thing? My doctor’s office is closed, so I leave a message. I’m surprised to get a call back that afternoon. He is clear and decisive. It’s time to go immediately to the emergency room.

It has been a week since I last left my house, a week since I’ve driven my car. St. Joseph Medical Center is the closest hospital to me, and when I get there, the ER parking lot is surprisingly empty. I park, hop out, and almost turn back after reading the sign in the window: “At this time, we do not have COVID-19 testing available for all patients.” There is a sad looking plastic tent and some caution tape in front of the main entrance. I enter through a side door, pressing the button with my elbow, trying not to touch anything.

Inside, there are two receptionists wearing masks and zero patients in the waiting room. “My doctor told me to come,” I wheeze from behind my mask. “He wants me to get a chest X-ray for pneumonia.”

Behind closed doors, they quickly identify me as a COVID-19 risk and everyone who visits me is encased in plastic masks and garments. They take vials of my blood and photos of my lungs. Within a few minutes, the ER doctor is telling me I have pneumonia, a common effect of COVID-19. He says my lungs look “very bad.” He says I am midway between the early and late stages of coronavirus symptoms, with the latter being a total collapse of the lungs. He wants to aggressively treat me with IV antibiotics, Azithromycin, for viral pneumonia, and asks if I want to be part of a clinical trial for use of Plaquenil, aka hydroxychloriquine, an anti-malaria drug that may or may not help but the president is touting as “very promising” on the news. At this point, I’ll take anything, although studies now show that the drug has made coronavirus patients worse and, in some cases, caused permanent heart damage.

The doctor wants to test me for COVID-19, but he is only allowed to if I fail two other tests first, so we begin. After 45 minutes, my flu test is negative. An hour later, my viral panel is negative, too. They then give me the COVID-19 test and tell me I should have the results in 48 hours. The doctor wants to admit me to the hospital.

Cara Ober spent a lot of time in bed, separated from her family. Her dog, Mr. Big, was her sole source of companionship. -Courtesy of Cara Ober

My room is clean and quiet, and I appreciate the rest. It’s a comfort to know that professionals are monitoring my heart and lungs and I’m not going to die alone in the middle of the night.

A respiratory specialist visits me four times a day to administer an inhaler and test my lung functioning. A doctor visits once a day; I have no idea what his face looks like, but he gives me his cell number. He texts me from Eddie’s the next day and offers to bring me snacks, which is endearing beyond any normal scale of bedside manner. I have nurses who are so kind and generous that it brings me to tears. I realize they are risking their lives every time they enter the room.

After three days, my breathing begins to improve, and my doctor and I discuss an exit strategy. I still have not received my test results. He tells me I am potentially contagious for two weeks after my last fever and instructs me to behave as though I have been confirmed positive no matter what.

On Wednesday, March 25, I am discharged from the hospital. It’s cold and drizzly and surreal as I walk to my car, still sitting in the ER parking lot, which is still mostly empty. I look forward to sleeping in my own bed, and my husband and I have hatched a plan for me to quarantine in our bedroom with the dog, and for him and my son to essentially live their lives as far away from me as they can in the same house for the next two weeks.

I am still exhausted and have no appetite. I am getting migraine-level headaches every afternoon, but I can inhale completely, with just a small amount of coughing and I have an Albuteral inhaler to help my lungs. My pneumonia is on the mend. This time, I know better than to expect a speedy recovery. COVID-19 lingers and changes, flickers away, and returns with unexpected force. It is brutal and almost calculating, and this fluctuation in symptoms and false sense of improvement encourages its spread.

“I have nurses who are so kind and generous that it brings me to tears.”

A week and a half later, on April 3, I get a phone call from my ER doctor. My results have finally been faxed in and my test is positive, confirming that I was indeed infected with COVID-19. He says I no longer need to be quarantined from my family, a great relief, but I still tire easily. My senses of taste and smell have returned and I can finally breathe deeply. I am thankful.

Weeks later, the entire planet is still under lockdown, gripped with dread and fear due to the wide spread of COVID-19. I want to feel like my old self, but I know that I do not. As is true of most of the negative impacts of COVID-19, my current health situation could have been avoided if we had made well-informed decisions from the start. I did not need to get this sick, the same way our country could have prevented an economic collapse.

American capitalism has trained us to think we have control over our own lives, to the point where even serious health issues are a mind-over-matter problem to be quickly solved, but the coronavirus pandemic has revealed this to be a complete fantasy. We are not in control and we are not prepared and the U.S. healthcare system—or industry, as it actually is here (there are shareholders and payoffs, are there not?)—is not set up to care for people when they need it the most.

I worry about how long this is going to last, not just the risk to life and health but also to our economy, our culture, to the world as we have known it. All we have right now are our decisions and the impact of these choices. I wish I had said no to the clinical trial of hydroxychloroquine in the hospital, but I was scared and sick and desperate.

We all need to make better decisions. We need to hold our leaders accountable. We need to make sure hospitals are properly funded and those who work at them are supported and protected. We need to offer all Americans healthcare, which is not tied to their workplace, because jobs disappear during a health crisis and this further destabilizes our collective way of life.

Until then, I’ll be walking my dog with my son again, slowly but surely, grateful for every breath of fresh air.

He wasn’t doing it intentionally, but something Orioles manager Brandon Hyde told reporters (via Zoom) this week perfectly illustrated just how different this baseball season—if it even happens as planned—is for everyone involved.

“We’ve done a nice job of staying apart,” Hyde said, looking into a laptop computer on his office desk at Camden Yards, where 47 players, coaches, and other staff have gathered to prepare for an unprecedented, pandemic-shortened 60-game season.

Following an abbreviated three-week summer training camp, the O’s season is scheduled to begin July 24 against the Red Sox in Boston in front of no fans—one of the many standard operating procedures in place to bring pro sports back to life while hopefully not causing a further spread of COVID-19.

Hyde, the Orioles second-year manager, spoke to the media each day this week from his office right near the O’s locker room, which is kind of a sensitive area these days. Those inside must wear masks and keep social distance.

Out on the field, the stay-six-feet-away protocol is a bit easier to manage given the environment. As outfielder Austin Hays put it, “The great thing about baseball is it’s a very big field.” But even outdoors, on Camden Yards’ typical beautifully manicured green grass, scenes are different than they ever have been before.

Handwashing stations have been placed near the dugouts, and leather-bound baseballs are being cleaned and recycled. Staying apart—and clean—has become the new team bonding experience. When third baseman Renato Nunez hit a home run during an intra-squad game Wednesday night, he air-handshook teammate Rio Ruiz as he rounded the bases. “It was kind of weird,” Nunez said. “But it’s great to be here and playing the game we love.”

Indeed, after longer-than-expected negotiations between Major League Baseball’s owners and its players union throughout the last few months—the fine details of an appropriate paycheck in a shortened season being the unfortunate primary sticking point—baseball is back, for now.

The question of whether all the safety protocols will work well enough to prevent what’s proven to be a highly contagious, invisible, airborne virus from invading an entire team—and thus likely ending the entire league’s season—is still a legitimate one. But O’s staff, coaches, and players seem to be doing everything that can be practically and logistically done so that they’re not the ones to make any headlines.

Upon their return to Baltimore last week, all players started to get tested for COVID-19 every other day—though results have been slow to arrive, a common problem, pro baseball or not. Temperature screens are routine. Every piece of team apparel has been personalized so there aren’t any mix-ups. Players have rotated through day-long practices in smaller groups. On the first day of camp, position players sat in one dugout and pitchers in the other.

“The sport is making an effort to get going,” Orioles general manager Mike Elias said. “It’s tough circumstances. There’s a lot of challenges involved, but I think we’re doing a great job.”

Here are five things you should know about this unique attempt at a baseball season.

1. It’s a busy schedule (and a lot of games are against the Yankees and Red Sox…)

The Orioles are scheduled to play 60 games in 66 days starting with the season opener on July 24 in Boston, the first of 20 games the O’s will play against either the Red Sox or the Yankees.

That’s by design by Major League Baseball. In this shortened pandemic season, teams will mostly play division opponents, so the bulk of the schedule is against division opponents in the A.L. East.

In interleague games, the O’s will play the N.L. East, including games against the Washington Nationals. It might be one of the toughest schedules ever faced.

2. There will be no fans (yet)

The O’s new home opener is scheduled for July 29 against the Miami Marlins, but for fans, the designation is sort of an unfortunate footnote. Only players, coaches, team staff, and media (we think, we hope) will be allowed in Camden Yards.

Though all of the green seats in the stadium will be empty for now, it will still be nice to see the Warehouse in the background of games on TV. And, in general, live competition and commentary from MASN’s Gary Thorne and Jim Palmer will be welcome entertainment for us all watching at home and on our phones.

“It’s going to be weird,” says All-Star pitcher John Means, “but the weirdest part is all these games count more than they ever have, and you’re not going to feel the energy of these games coming from the fans. It might take some getting used to.”

When the O’s announced their new schedule on Monday, they left open the possibility that fans will be allowed in person at some point this year, but whether that happens—and in what form (half capacity, or a quarter, for example) depends on the decisions of state government officials, the Maryland Stadium Authority, and pro baseball leadership.

3. A short season might work in the O’s favor

From a competitive standpoint, a shorter than normal schedule—rather than the usual 162 games—makes the outcome of every game even more significant in the standings and playoff positioning.

Say one underdog team (cough, the Orioles) goes on a brief winning streak against a few division opponents (like the Blue Jays and Rays). Suddenly that team could be in contention for a spot in the 10-team postseason.

“It’s going to be a season like no other,” Means said. “We feel like we’re in it. We feel like we have a chance.”

On the flip side, something like a 10-game losing streak could end a team’s motivation pretty quickly. Either way, it’s never been better to be a team with low expectations, mathematically speaking.

“This is a sprint. Anything can happen in 60 games,” Hyde says. “We’ve talked about going out and shocking people and winning some games.”

4. We’ll get a nice look at the Baby Birds

While Major League Baseball is back, Minor League Baseball is not. That is certainly a blow to the O’s long-term rebuilding plans—which are focused on developing talent within the farm system in places like Bowie, Aberdeen, and Frederick, and funneling it to the big leagues.

As a result, we might see a huge sampling of players this year, and at the very least, playing time for a lot of Baby Birds. Rosters have been expanded, and the O’s currently have 47 players in their player pool (of a maximum 60).

Top prospects such as 2019 No. 1 overall draft pick Adley Rutschman, 2020 first-round pick Heston Kjerstad, and others could be added in the coming weeks. And at the start of the season, look for all kinds of relief pitchers to get time as starters work back into game shape.

Potential Opening Day starter Means, for instance, is working on getting comfortable throwing four and five innings during this abbreviated summer training camp, and most of all the possible starting pitchers are in the same situation.

5. Change can be good

Few things about this baseball season will be normal. But strange times can also lighten things up for a lot of people. Take Davis, a former home run champ who—after putting on 25 pounds of muscle since the end of last season—looked good during spring training in Florida before COVID-19 hit.

Davis said earlier this year that he was “physically and mentally” drained after last season, during which he took all kinds of criticism and notably expressed frustrations in the dugout. This week, he spoke to reporters via Zoom wearing a green camouflage mask. He mentioned how he kept in shape with the home gym he set up in the winter even before the pandemic (“I guess that was a good move,” he said), and he seemed content.

On the field, Hyde said Davis has been launching balls onto Eutaw Street during batting practice. We’ll see if that continues, and what happens with everything else, once (fingers crossed) the games begin.

Val Lucas, 36, of Monkton-based Bowerbox Press, is luckier than some of Baltimore’s up-and-coming artists and craftspeople. Lucas, who does letterpress printing and woodcuts, has income from outlets other than her art. But she knows there are many others who are really suffering because of the pandemic, despite their best efforts to gin up their virtual sales efforts.

“I’ve been working on updating and improving my website and social media presence and have connected with a lot of other artists doing the same,” says Lucas. “It’s not as effective though, as it can be hard to show the work in detail [online]. Being able to touch and hold the work definitely helps with sales but, with good photos, I’m hoping to show the aspects that make my work special.”

As is the case with many local businesses, the pandemic is having a major impact on local craftspeople’s ability to sell their work. “The inability to have in-person sales or work with custom clients is hard for many one-person ventures, since many retail stores are closed and, therefore, not buying goods from these businesses,” says Lucas. “Many are pivoting to online sales, but it’s a big switch to make and not feasible for some.”

How can we lend a hand? By showcasing the work of some of these artists to help them get the word out.

Above: Wooden tables, bowls, and accessories by Ally Silberkleit.

Shop more at furloughwoodco.com.

From left: Campfire mug by Chloe Murkli at SweetMintHandmadeGoods.com; Plaid vases by Whitney Simpkins at Personal Best Ceramics on Instagram @personalbestceramics; Pillow cover by Chloe Murkli at SweetMintHandmadeGoods.com.

In January, as COVID-19 began its spread around the globe, a team of Johns Hopkins University engineers began tracking data from around the world to document the novel coronavirus. Their online dashboard now gets upwards of 4.5 billion hits a day from public health authorities, researchers, and the general public. In early May, we spoke with project lead Lauren Gardner, an infectious disease specialist and co-director of the school’s Center for Systems Science and Engineering, about the dashboard’s viral moment.

What was a normal day like for you before the coronavirus outbreak?
A lot more relaxed. My group does infectious disease modeling, specifically looking at the risk of spread on national or global scales. We look at how many different factors—people, their environment, land use, population density, urbanization, climate mobility—play a role to understand which are most significant, then we build out prediction models. Back in January, we were looking specifically at measles. I’ve historically done a lot of work around Zika and dengue fever.

Given your expertise, did the arrival of this pandemic come as a surprise?
Back in January, I definitely didn’t think this was going to become the worst pandemic in a century, but in general, I am keenly aware of the heightened risk of new novel viruses getting introduced into the human population. The severity of this one, the extent to which it has integrated into every part of the world, and the complete economic collapse around it, is more extreme than I, and I think most people, were originally thinking. Even in January, we were expecting to see it all over the world—we were modeling importation and exportation risk at a global scale back then. But there was still just so much uncertainty surrounding how infectious it really was.

How did you make the shift to following COVID?
We had a lab meeting back in January with a couple of my PhD students and we were talking about this new coronavirus in China, just discussing what was going on and the implications. The students were already tracking it closely because they’re both Chinese and have family there. I thought it could be a great opportunity to build out a dataset for an emerging infectious disease in real time for the research community. Of course, we didn’t know where it was going to go. We built the dashboard just to visualize the data. It was a big surprise how popular it became for the general public. It makes sense now. My PhD student, Ensheng Dong, was really the pioneer. He built the original dashboard from scratch. We literally made the whole thing in a few hours one evening. But the data collection feeding into it is an incredibly complex process that has massively evolved over the last few months.

How quickly did it begin to consume your work?
The first week we put it up. It was growing quickly in popularity. By the end of February, it was already getting a billion hits a day. It was huge, and already starting to quickly get unsustainable in terms of managing it. We had to grow the team and start automating things. Part of it too was the scale of the outbreak. In terms of magnitude and also spatial scale, it just grew so fast through January. It was pretty obvious very fast that we were getting in deep.

How timely and accurate is the dashboard?
We update every hour. It just depends on how frequently our sources update, and because we’re reporting from all over the world, we’re getting updates at different times. One of the biggest challenges has been that sources are changing all the time. Over the last few months, counties, states, and even countries have come up with their own reporting systems, dashboards, and websites dedicated to COVID. None of these existed in January and February when we first started tracking this. Reporting rules are also changing. Some places include probable cases, some include probable deaths, some don’t. That’s really complicated to keep up with, and it’s a reason why there are discrepancies. Everyone in the world is still trying to learn how to deal with this, and their data collection and processes are continually evolving. Even in the U.S., there are inconsistencies all over the place.

What’s your day to day like now?
Since January, it’s been 110 percent. None of us have taken a day off. We work pretty much all the time because the dashboard is running all the time. We have people on 24-hour rotations for issues around servers and scripts and data crashes and all that, and we have group meetings every morning to talk about any ongoing issues, because we’re still literally building out the infrastructure every day. On the side, I’m doing a lot more modeling and analysis now, too, using the data we’ve collected through the dashboard. We’re creating weekly risk assessment forecasts for what’s going on in the U.S. We’re looking at how the cases and death rates are growing in every U.S. county. We’re looking at how social distancing is affecting the outbreaks growth rates. We’re looking at building local and global models for climate seasonality, and how that’s affecting COVID around the world.

Are there any key takeaways?
We’re learning a lot. The most critical thing right now is that we’re obviously seeing the loosening of regulations around social distancing and stay-at-home orders, and I would say it’s definitely not time for that yet. There’s strong evidence that social distancing is driving down the growth rate of the outbreaks, and if we start moving around again, we should expect to see those increase.

Are there any local trends you’re paying attention to?
A lot of our county-level modeling looks at the contributing risk factors, and a lot of that has to do with certain socioeconomic demographic characteristics, so I definitely have concerns about Baltimore. I do expect it to get worse here. Maryland is one of the higher risk states that we’re concerned about.

What’s next for the dashboard?
We’ll keep it running and continue to build on it and keep it as sustainable as possible. We’ll continue to create new models to try to learn more about COVID, and then ideally we’ll be able to transfer that knowledge to other infectious diseases. I think the dashboard has filled a knowledge gap and set a great example in terms of having a public facing tool to watch these things unfold in real time. I think it could be a good resource for annual influenza. And I hope it encourages more vaccinations among populations because maybe they’ll understand more about the risks.

You joined the Hopkins team in early 2019. What it’s like being a part of that community in this moment?
This tool is so trusted because it’s coming out of Hopkins. I think it’s really cool that we’re doing it out of the [Whiting] School of Engineering. It’s important for people to recognize that engineers can contribute to society in lots of different ways, including public health.

In the streets of Baltimore, it’s a familiar, if sometimes forgotten, sound: the gentle clang of bells and clump-clump-clump of hoofs beating the pavement.

Yeah, bananas, cantaloupes, and watermelons. Sweet potatoes and collard greens. Sweet apples and oranges.

Heard less frequently than in the past, the historic singsong of the city’s arabbers has never stopped ringing out. This spring and summer, however, the vendors’ mission to bring healthy fare to underserved communities became more urgent amid stay-at-home orders and fraught trips—often by bus in low-income neighborhoods—to the grocery store. It’s a mission that’s also expanded in the midst of the COVID-19 outbreak.

“Free fruit, free vegetables, free masks,” arabber Todd “Greedy” Cornish calls out on a recent Wednesday afternoon as he, along with 22-year-old fellow arabber Shauna Chaney, leads a horse and colorful wooden cart onto West Lombard Street. “Got some information in there,” Cornish continues, handing out a bag of groceries, which also include cans of soup, bread, and other staples, to a couple of appreciative senior women. “Make sure you pass it on.”

In April, through a partnership between the Arabber Preservation Society and Food Rescue Baltimore, arabbers began passing out bags of free groceries in several of the city’s food deserts, occasionally offering bouquets of flowers as well, along with protective cloth masks and public-health handouts about the need for social distancing.

Long neglected in terms of public-health outreach and infrastructure, the majority Black neighborhoods that arabbers generally serve have been on the front lines of the ongoing COVID-19 battle. African Americans make up 31 percent of state residents, but account for nearly half of all coronavirus deaths in Maryland.

As the outbreak spread to Baltimore, the City Health Department posted educational fliers and warnings on their social media channels. But trying to dispel myths and rumors about the virus, and get accurate information into people’s hands, remains an issue.

“Some people have been taking it seriously, some not,” says Levar Mullens, a Safe Streets worker who also manages the stable. “It’s about educating people.”

“Arabbers are the perfect messenger. They’re one of the most trusted institutions in the Black community,” says Preservation Society vice-president Holden Warren, who has relief experience combatting Ebola in Liberia and initiated the coordination efforts. “Who better to give away food, give away masks? We’ve got gloves and Purell and some bleach to keep things clean on our end.”

The Carlton Street Stable, which dates back to the 1850s, is one of three remaining arabber stables in the city and believed to be the oldest continuously operating livery stable in the country.

Owned and run for decades by a man named Buddy Kratz, a generous Southwest Baltimore native, merchant, and horse trader, it was the home base for more than 40 wagons in its mid-20th-century heyday, when arabbers peddled ice, wood, coal, and produce to customers summoned by their street cries. Kratz’s interest in horses, and by necessity, wagons, led to a relationship with the Pennsylvania Amish, who continue to provide horses and repair the carts’ old-school wooden wheels to this day.

In March, the Maryland State Arts Council awarded the Arabber Preservation Society a Creativity Grant that will fund the digital restoration of a 1976, 16-mm film documentary on the arabbers for screening at the Parkway Theatre. The last of their kind in the U.S., even then Baltimore’s arabbers were both struggling for survival and viewed as a potential solution to the city’s ever-expanding food deserts. Those concerns, stark when the film was shot, stand out in greater relief today.

“What is Baltimore without the arabbers?” says Chaney, in between feeding, petting, and chatting up the dozen horses inside the stable, tucked between Pratt and Lombard streets, not far from Hollins Market. “We do this every day,” she continues later, referring to the care of the horses and yard full of chickens and goats, a bird coop, and stray cats. “This is a break from the stress of living in Baltimore. It’s a fun thing,” she says. “This is a loving experience.”

Feeling anxious? Having difficulty sleeping? Is your mind racing with all the possibilities of what could go wrong—or perhaps what already has? Rest assured, you’re not alone. Everyone deals with anxiety from time to time and a global health crisis like this—with all its commensurate unknowns—can only make it worse. We chatted with Andrea G. Batton, LCPC, of the Maryland Anxiety Center, about coping mechanisms for handling coronavirus related stress.

Why do we even feel anxiety?
We’re wired that way. It’s evolutionary. We need it to have that ability to jump to the worst case scenario. So if you look back at cavemen, if they heard a noise or a rustle, they had to go, “Oh my God, it’s a tiger!” Because if they thought, “Oh that might be a little mouse rustling through the leaves,” then they’d be dead. But we’re not living in the wild. Yes, we do have danger. But we need to be able to rationally assess for the actual level of threat.

And worrying never helps, right?
Right. We have no control over what’s happening with this coronavirus. Hopefully we’re doing everything that we can. We’re following the CDC guidelines. If I get in my head and I worry about it, it isn’t going to change anything. It’s just going to make me feel terrible. What I can do is bring my focus back to the present moment: What’s really important right now? What are your life values? That’s what you want to focus on.

What’s the best way to deal with quarantining?
I recommend a regular schedule: Say, wake up 8 a.m., exercise, get dressed, and have a cup of coffee. Block it out as loosely as possible. So maybe at 9 a.m., have a work project. And then block out some time for house projects or laundry or activities of daily living and then lunch. It’s really important to incorporate self-care right now. So that’s a time where you turn off the social media. You disconnect. Sit on your front porch or take a walk. And sleep is crucial. Don’t stay up until 2 in the morning. Don’t get sucked into sleeping half your day away. That isn’t good for your mood.

What if something bad does happen—like if I lose my job?
Bad things happen. The question is: How do you respond in the most helpful and adaptive way? Do I take this time to look for a job? To update my resume? To look at developing my business? To look into financial assistance? Is there something else I want to do? Do I want to write a book? Learn to play the guitar? Look into another career? Freaking out and panicking is not going to change anything. I’m always a believer that we can learn from adversity and grow from it. And sometimes become better.

WHAT YOU NEED:

Guidelines: Follow the CDC’s guidelines. Don’t overreact—or underreact. That will help give you a sense of control.

A Schedule: Keep a routine going. It doesn’t have to be rigid, but enough to give you structure. Take time for self-care.

Sleep: Don’t let your sleep patterns get all out of whack. That’s not good for your mental health.