It’s hard to predict what the summer of 2020 will be remembered for. The coronavirus pandemic has brought tectonic change to almost every part of life, but with no specific triggering event to rally around, all we have are ripples: cancelled plans, the claustrophobia that comes from pandemic fatigue, and the exhaustion that comes from a torrent of calamitous events in the news cycle. There was one blessing for me, though. Unable to travel, I had nowhere to go but my backyard. I got to sit and savor the beauty of my little patch of heaven--in my whole adult life, I’ve never had a garden to plant things in. Working from home, I got to see and actually interact with my neighbors. I learned to love Columbus, and the people in it. Other dramatic crises—wildfires, floods, civil uprisings, the ever-looming election—added to the uniquely exhausting power of the pandemic. But I’ll always remember sitting on my back porch with Jackson by my side, listening to the reassuring sound of hourly-striking church bells, a vestige of regularity from another time in an upended world.