In late May, right before we planned on publishing this last photo-essay entry, the reason for our Introductory post of March 2020 became glaringly obvious in our streets.

Colin and I thought that the wide variance of parenting experiences we've encountered during the pandemic deserves honoring. So, we will not be inserting non-experienced reflections about parenting here. We will let the mothers who chose to speak for their families and themselves have the virtual floor.

We noticed a pattern emerging in this project among people who live with pets. Not only was each hairy creature brought along for the picture, but there was also always a shot of someone showing unabashed affection to their animals. We know people find all kinds of refuge in their relationships with pets, and perhaps they do even more so now.

Colin drove up north near the U.S. border with Canada on a weekday. Before hitting the highway, he crossed one of the most recently gentrified areas of town in a minuscule fraction of the time it used to take. It was usually frustrating to traverse that traffic bottleneck. Now, instead of lamenting the crowded street, he stood still on a red light that turned green, taking pictures. No one drove up next to his car, no one honked. No one minded because no one was there.

Taking portraits, in the mix of old and new apartment buildings that make up our small subsection of Queen Anne, meant we had a unique chance to meet some of our closest neighbors. Before that, organizing clothing swaps, engaging with Buy Nothing giveaways, and attending an immigrant rights support rally, had been the extent of our neighborhood involvement. We knew we wanted more.

Our visit with HanaSara revealed shared sentiments about collective life. She wanted to take this chance for a photo to have some fun and that she did. Play, although we may forget, is as basic a human need as any form of social bonding.

Cassandra's family shoot happened just a few blocks away from our building in Lower Queen Anne. That day, the familiar scenes around us felt somehow new. I realized that inside the factory-turned-Slovak-neighborhood-beerhall, the large communal tables now sit empty.

Pamela has cherished that the absence of a morning rush lets her spend more time with her husband, Ryan, and their two sons Gunnar and Rhys. She is lucky to be able to work from home during this time, and she has also realized how badly clutter can affect anxiety. For her, it was always a relief to get out of the house and go to an organized workspace. She finds it really hard to focus in a small apartment full of four people's stuff. She misses random conversations in person and chance encounters, but small gestures from neighbors have become entirely meaningful.

Gloria, MoMo, and Hannah's inviting disposition was a real balm. There they were, calmly, joyfully greeting us in the high density of urban life, of which their Eastlake apartment building seemed such a perfect example. At one point, taking a step back during the shoot meant I stepped into their next-door neighbor's outdoor space.