We have received, for I think the third year in a row, a May Day basket on our doorstep.
The first year, I thought it was a birthday present for Paul, but it was clearly labeled Happy May Day and addressed to the whole family. A quick Google search informed me that it’s an old tradition. People would gather up flowers and sweets as April came to a close, and then leave baskets for their neighbors. Always anonymously.
It’s a shame the tradition is dying, because it charms me right out of my socks.
The contents of our basket have been different every year, though muffins of some variety have been a constant. The sandwich wraps are new this year, and quite possibly will be my lunch tomorrow.
We don’t know who our benefactors are, though we know that they are sneaky. The goodies appear like magic every year at different times of day. Never when we are right there to catch them in the act, but always when we are around or soon to come home, as far as we can tell, so things don’t sit out too long. We have a theory about identity, but it’s based on wild supposition and circumstantial evidence, and we’ll likely never know if we’re right or not. Our May Day elves seem determined to remain anonymous, and I am content not to ruin the game. It’s more fun to guess anyway. If you know, don’t tell me.
It reminds me, too, that while I am unlikely to become a May Day elf myself (go look at any of my posts in any December – here’s a sample – to see how I feel about holidays and expectations), there’s never a bad time to leave someone a little basket. Actual or metaphorical. And it might be even more fun if you sneak around a little.
Happy May Day!