May Day Joy

     On another May 1st, when I was 10 years old, my mother described the custom for using flowers to spread spring's joy.

     This is how it works:  On the first day of May, you gather bouquets of flowers from spring's floral bounty.  You tie each bouquet with a ribbon or put it in a lace doily cone.  Then you bring it to a neighbor's front door, leave it on the doormat, ring the bell, and run away quickly to hide.  The neighbor answers the door.  Nothing is there but the beautiful flowers left anonymously on the door step.    The neighbor's heart is filled with the joy of spring.

      Really? I was skeptical.  Why hadn't I heard of this custom before?  Mom assured me that children all over the world practiced this delightful May Day ritual.

     Children like the ones that went to my new school?

     Yes, children everywhere, she said.

     But then why hadn't we given flowers to our neighbors last May Day when we lived on that lovely hillside outside of Portland, Oregon?

     Mom didn't have to explain.  I knew why.  On one side our neighbors were a bunch of sheep.  They would have eaten the bouquet and with no particular joy.  There was an open meadow on the other side - a sea of tall grass surrounded by evergreens.  When I played there, grass almost hid me.  There was not a natural recipient for the May Day joy in the direction of the meadow any more than on the side of the sheep.   Behind the house was woods as far as you could go.  If you were a kid.  In front, there was a stand of pine trees and a forgotten garden that still offered up rhubarb every year.

     In San Gabriel, California, where my mother introduced us to the May Day custom, houses were closer together.  Mom thought it would be a good idea for my brothers and sister and I to deliver a bouquet to our next door neighbors.

     I was resistant.  Two cranky old ladies lived next door.  They kept their window shades down.  They didn't like us.  It didn't seem as if they had much use for joy anyway.  But in this matter my mother was insistently persuasive.  We agreed to bring them May Day flowers.

     There was another obstacle though.  Where were the flowers?  We had a magnificent yard in San Gabriel.  There were 14 fruit trees, not counting the huge walnut tree or the non-bearing grapefruit and avocado.  There weren't any flowers except the lovely camelias on the patio and surely those were out of bounds for picking.

     We selected the best from the ample supply of dandelions.  The milky fluid in their stems ran down our arms and got on our clothes.  There were some violets too.  We added some other pretty things, like feathers and little sticks, to fill out the bouquet.  It looked pitiful.  The short-stemmed dandelions and violets wilted before delivery.  We didn't have any ribbon in the house on that particular day and I doubt we ever had lace doily cones.   Nevertheless, we deposited our homely bouquet on the old ladies' doormat, rang their doorbell, and ran for cover.  The crabbier of the two opened the door.  She looked around, but not down.  She put her hands on her hips and muttered something out of keeping with the spirit of the happy season, and went back inside.

     There weren't any other frolicking children leaving spring joy on their neighbors' doorsteps.  However many children followed this custom elsewhere, it was apparently unheard of in southern California.

     Although my May Day adventure was unsuccessful then, I find myself enchanted with the idea now.  Lilacs are blooming just outside my front door.  They are so pretty.  Their fragrance is is an elixir.  I'd like to leave them on your doorsteps.

     Perhaps their magic can be transmitted electronically.  For anyone who chances upon my blog, I leave you these lilacs, and the spring joy that comes with them.