San Francisco, California
May 1st in our garden is the day we trim the lilac, put the cushions out for good, open the umbrella, clean out the fountain, and bring the hose from its hiding place to where it can be easily reached. Statistically speaking, we can expect that it will not rain again until October. Who knows if this year will be different!
It’s taken me a few years to get used to the wet/dry rhythm of this climate, both for my own psyche and for the plants we choose to grow. We considered going completely native as some folks here have done (succulents and scraggly California natives that flourish at the edges of the sea), but compromised, instead, with mostly Mediterranean and South African plants and flowers that require only a modest amount of water. Most of the rich Midwestern varieties I’d grown to love in my previous home don’t really flourish here. They require a steady rain, and abundant cold and heat.
I got a notice in my Facebook feed that The School in Rose Valley is planning to hold its annual May Fair virtually tomorrow, and that the traditional Maypole and sword dances will be performed. None of us graduates are quite sure how that’s going to work online, but I’ll tune in to see. The sword dance has been a right of passage for the Oldest Group (5th and 6th graders) since well before my ancient time. Holding wooden swords from end to end, the dancers form a circle and then weave in and out and through and under, without ever letting go. In the grand finale, they contract the circle and, dancing in place, weave their swords together into a single star that the leader raises high. When that star goes up and holds its shape, it’s the greatest feeling in the world - like you’re saying good-bye to childhood, your parents cheering from the lawn. I think I could still do that dance, if my legs worked better and somebody handed me a sword.
In Minnesota, I used to attend the traditional May Day parade along with some 50,000 people eager to get outside and enjoy the first warm (hopefully) day of the year. Here in San Francisco, May Day is passed over in favor of the extravagance of Carnaval (where social distancing is frowned upon), a Mardi Gras tradition scheduled in mid-May when there’s no more chance of rain.
This year, of course, we’re in the garden on this first day of May, and happy enough to be here. It's a lovely, sunny day. We share the space with roses, cats and hummingbirds… no rain, no dancers, no parades, alas, in sight.