Coping with Crisis Fatigue

Since last summer, my part of the world (the Sierra Nevada foothills) has experienced the threat of wildfire, multiple multi-day power shutoffs (related to the threat of wildfire), a dry October and even drier February (which impacted the forage available for our sheep), and now the spread of COVID-19. I realized one evening this week that I was inexplicably tired - more tired, even, than I usually get by the third week of lambing season. I realized that coping with one crisis after another has worn me out.

Since the first of the year, I've been worried about the lack of precipitation - and the resulting lack of grass for our sheep. As I write this, my worries are diminished (we've measured just under an inch of rain today), but not entirely eliminated. I suspect the dry, warm February will result in earlier-than-normal maturity in our annual grasses - which reduces the nutritional value and palatability of our forage at the time when we need as much high quality feed for our sheep as possible. And I'm still concerned about the amount of dry forage we'll be able to save for next fall.

More recently, I've been anxious about the spread of novel coronavirus and the resulting COVID-19 infections in California and in Placer County specifically. For me, the pace at which this current crisis has evolved has been especially difficult - every day, it seems, we learn something new about its spread and impact.

I serve on the board of a local agricultural organization that had scheduled it's biggest fundraiser of the year (a dinner and auction) later this month. Our board met Tuesday, and in a split decision, voted to go ahead with the dinner. I voted no, not because I was worried about disease transmission, but because I was concerned that many people would decide not to come and would ask for ticket refunds. Despite these concerns, the board voted to go forward. By Thursday, however, we learned that the California Department of Public Health was asking organizations to cancel or postpone gatherings of 250 or more people. We decided to follow their recommendation.

Also on Thursday morning, a local 4-H volunteer asked if I thought the club should go forward with a separate fundraising dinner scheduled for tonight. After talking it through with her, we decided to postpone this event, as well. I learned second-hand that other volunteers were critical of my decision - they felt I was overreacting. On Friday, I directed all of our 4-H clubs to suspend club and project meetings at least through the end of the month. I was a bit worried about the response to my caution; so far, I haven't heard any criticism. We'll see.

I learned during the 2012-2015 drought that decisiveness is a coping mechanism for me. I find that making and sticking to a specific course of action (selling ewes, for example) is difficult but ultimately reduces my anxiety. Indecision, on the other hand, stresses me out. I have also been told that I'm a very deliberate person (which I take as a compliment, mostly). I do find that I give a great deal of thought to the downstream effects of my decisions. I know that sometimes my decisions may turn out wrong - what if I sell sheep, for example, the week before the rain returns? What if I suspend 4-H meetings and it turns out that our anxiety over COVID-19 turns out to be overblown?

My friend and colleague Leslie Roche helped me look at this conundrum differently yesterday. I had mentioned that I was a little worried that our 4-H families would think I was overreacting. She said, "What might seem extreme now may be exactly what we need in 10 days - and hopefully not less than we need. And if everything turns out ok then, yeah - that's the point, right?!" Coping, I realized, also means sharing our anxieties with friends and family - they always provide perspective and reassurance!

Finally, I find my lifestyle and practical skills help me cope. I told someone yesterday that I feel so fortunate to have freezers full of food that we've raised. And I'm comforted by the knowledge that I have the skills and resources to refill those freezers as necessary. A full woodshed, a fire in the woodstove, and a pot of stew on the stove are reassuring, as well. And sheepherders, after all, are masters at social distancing!