The Yard Sign Situation

Ellen C. Wells

My friend Sheila is a dog trainer. More specifically, she’s an animal behaviorist. As my Jack Russell-Australian cattle puppy has come into her own this past year, I recently found the need to consult with Sheila and ask for some in-person training.

While a good many of the people I know are either securely ensconced in salaried corporate positions (i.e., they are working from home 95% of the time now) or are frontline healthcare workers (i.e., they haven’t spent quality time at home in nearly a year), some of my friends and neighbors are underemployed retail and restaurant workers or are just having a difficult time making ends meet in a gig economy. I’m sensitive to the fact that this employment gap exists and it’s growing.

So when I saw Sheila I asked, “How are you doing?” with true and sincere concern.

“Honestly, 2020 has been a great year for me.” Whew. I was relieved. Sheila explained she had left one job that wasn’t serving her, focused on her own training services and also teamed up with researchers to train dogs to sniff out COVID-19. How cool is that? Even her divorce was going better than planned. But I noticed as she discussed her successes, her body language was definitely broadcasting her feeling of guilt because life had been good to her while others were experiencing so much suffering. (Well, there wasn’t a sign of guilt when she talked about the divorce—she was truly reveling in that status.)

Many in our industry have had an extraordinarily fruitful 2020. We tend to think that this pandemic-induced success was par for the course among retailers. From what I see, those who had fabulous 2020s were just more visible than those who struggled for part or all of the season. Some garden centers weren’t considered essential, as you’ll recall. While some of our businesses are up (way) more than 30%, it’s been hard for some peers to catch up. Some closed their doors. Some are taking retirement and are done with it all.

For some reason these successes and struggles are linked in my mind to what I’ve been calling the Yard Sign Situation in my Southcoast town. The town has a rural/working class base with a growing number of Boston metro commuters. Last fall’s yard sign contingents showed our community to be politically split down the middle. And like troops deployed in battle, some yard signs became casualties. A few on one stretch of road disappeared, and then opposing candidate signs on another stretch vanished. These skirmishes continued right up until Election Day.

Politics is like that, and always will be. But what has happened since Election Day has made my heart full. The political yard signs across my town have been replaced with a different yard sign—a red heart on a white background. Since the pandemic started, the red heart has been a symbol with multiple meanings—a thank you to healthcare and essential workers, a “we’re all in this together” statement, a visual touchstone to remember that some among us are suffering from loneliness and loss.

The red heart campaign is a fundraiser for the local food pantry. A $5 sign donation goes to providing food and essentials to community members who haven’t fared so well in 2020. Down came the Biden and Trump signs. Up went the red hearts by the ones and twos. A few yards have a dozen or more. They accompany other symbols in people’s yards—Don’t Tread On Me flags, Black Lives Matter banners, Support Our Police signs, rainbow flags. These red hearts have shown us we have something in common. And the fact that there are so many of them has become a matter of local pride.

Isn’t that just what we need right about now, a simple symbol of what we’re all going through? A symbol of our successes and struggles and our acknowledgement of both. As I sit atop a new year, I am heartened by those red hearts. We all should be. GP