Today is May 1st, and at last, the lilacs are blooming. They're late this year - where we are in Ballard, they're usually earlier than the rest of the city, which means by mid-April, they've come and gone. Today feels like one of those days to be truly thankful for. It's sunny, warm, fragrant and vibrant.
May Day, originally a Pagan holiday, is barely noticed in North America today. Still celebrated in parts of Europe, the most recognized symbol of May Day is the legendary Maypole, a tall, typically wooden pole festooned with greenery, flowers and ribbons for May Day celebrations. Despite my Scandinavian heritage and growing up in the Norwegian and Swede-heavy burg of Ballard, the only time I danced the Maypole was in summer Girl Scout camp.
“May baskets” were the May Day tradition I grew up with. As a kid, I’d make baskets from paper, fill them with fresh-picked flowers (from ours or neighboring yards), and then gently carry them, delivering them to the doorsteps of the older ladies on the block.
Most of the ladies who lived here when I was little even knew my mom when she was that young. An only child, they all looked out for me. In tribute to them, I think I'll pick some lilacs today and leave them on doorsteps.
Clearly, I'm feeling a bit nostalgic. Lilacs do that - it must be their extraordinary fragrance that plays tricks with time. We have both white and purple here - white lilacs apparently represent "youthful innocence," while purple are symbolic of first love. While creating something new and different in this house, this garden, and even on this block, the memories of youthful innocence sometimes visit.
I think May Day should be resurrected among acknowledged holidays. It's a happy day, a good "get to know your neighbor" day, or a reminder to show appreciation to those we do know. Knowing who lives nearby has its benefits - we chat casually, look out for each other, share cat sitting and run the occasional errand. It all adds up to a stronger and safer community. Not a bad thing in today's crazy world.
For those who know the block or the garden and are curious about the aforementioned ladies, here's a glimpse into the delightful women who used to live here:
- Mrs. Johnson (Todd & Martha's place now) - on the southeast corner of 73rd, whose husband baked the most delicious bread and often delivered just-caught salmon (the Johnson's owned the lot where Shiv's house now stands), she kept beautiful rose bushes all around her house
- Mrs. Decker (Caden's house) - who with Mr. Decker, had a funny little cockapoo, and would make woven rugs with my aunt in a back room she dedicated for crafts; the rugs covered the floors throughout my grandparents house
- Mrs. Bean - she's still here - and still driving - bless her 95-year-old heart. She grew up on a farm near Yelm and has great stories to tell about living through the depression. She's been widowed now for at least 15 years but still wears her husband's glasses
- Mrs. Nolte (Jackie and Bill's place now) - I have her silver-plated angel candle sticks
- Mrs. Vaercamp - we still say hello by telephone on the "neighborhood night out" thanks to Doug down the street who stays in touch
- Mrs. Carlson - with the long, steep driveway where I'd ride my bike, I remember many evening visits in front of their fireplace; her husband took his own life after her death - he was unwilling to live without her
- Miss G (now Leann & Cody's place) - with a German last name I couldn't pronounce, many of us shortened her name to Miss G. She was old and decrepit, barely able to walk; rumor had it she'd never married, and she outlived any friends. She sat next to her front window looking out at everyone who passed, barely visible; I visited often and always waved when I walked by, whether or not I could see her, just in case
- Dorothy (Laura, Devon, Kasey & Tessa's place) - a widower and sister of Emil, who owned a 1963 white Chevy Impalla that she drove until cataracts made driving impossible, but it accompanied the hearse at her funeral. Her mother, old Mrs. Wurm, lived there, too, and sat in a rocking chair near the window, rocking her doll; she'd reverted, we said, back to childhood, our then-understanding of Alzheimer's
- Mrs. Newton (Karen's house) - whose daughter BG looked just like a model but who otherwise I barely remember, even though she lived just next door
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