I had waited months for a March trip to Florida to meet my brother for some fishing on the Gulf of Mexico. I had my plane ticket. My brother had booked a couple of charter outings. Winter was dragging on. I could hardly wait to head south.
Then, a few weeks before the day of departure, the coronavirus was detected in the United States. Various countries imposed travel restrictions. People were being quarantined, large gatherings cancelled, schools shut down. But none of this happened near where I live, in northern Wisconsin, and none where I was going. I thought I was
