When I (PeggySue) was in grade school, our teacher explained that the first of May was May Day.
Halfway between the spring equinox and the summer solstice, the day was traditionally celebrated by giving baskets of sweets or flowers, often left anonymously on someone’s doorstep.
From yellow construction paper, we wove May Baskets to take home to our family. As I walked home with another girl who lived nearby, we considered our empty baskets. How would we find something to fill them to give a proper May Day basket?
Passing the house on the corner, we noticed that the yard was ablaze with all kinds of blooming flowers. What’s an 8-year-old to do?!
We began to pick blooms. What luck that we could celebrate May Day by giving our families a filled May Day basket.
Suddenly, the lady of the house appeared. That was the first moment it occurred to me that picking someone else’s flowers without permission was stealing, trespassing, and probably wrecking her carefully planned garden.
Calmly, she asked what we were doing. My friend and I explained the problem of our empty baskets.
“In that case,” she said, “let me help.” With cutting sheers, she snipped a variety of flowers and laid them in our baskets. When she was done, our May baskets were beautiful. I proudly carried mine home to my mother.
Today, as my own flower gardens come alive with colorful blooms, I am aware that some single blooms come once a season. Many plants are specifically acquired, carefully placed, and thoughtfully nurtured. I realize what a gift of grace that gardener generously gave when she found two schoolgirls robbing her flower garden.
My grandmother also lived on a corner in sunny Southern California. During an era when kids got around on bicycles, those in the neighborhood rode their bikes through her yard, ruining her landscape. Grandma came up with a completely different solution, which brought a surprising addition to her family.
Gray Ghost
Grandma Olive took particular care of her plants. Gardening nurtured the greenery and her soul, so the regular tracks from bicycles cutting the corner by riding through her landscape were a problem.
To encourage bikers to stay on the sidewalk, Grandma planted a sizable rose garden in the corner space that previously tempted kids to take a shortcut through her grass. A few varieties flourished in that climate. Her favorite was the fragrant, red Chrysler Imperial. The hybrid tea rose was developed in Descanso Gardens in nearby Los Angeles County.
Regularly, Grandma spent time cultivating the bushes that grew up to three feet wide and five feet tall. She was cutting a bouquet of the five-inch blooms when something bumped her elbow.
She turned to find a friendly young Weimaraner.
“Well, hello.” She set down her basket and sheers to pat the gray head and look for a collar. “Says your name is Alex.”
She finished with the roses and Alex followed her back to the house. When he insisted on coming inside, she gave him a bowl of water which he quickly drank.
Wherever she went, the dog stayed companionably near. She reached out to the contact on the dog’s tag and a few days later, answered a knock at her door to find one of the Righteous Brothers on her front porch.
“I understand you have my dog.” At the sound of his voice, Alex bounded to his owner. “Thank you for caring for him.”
Not long after, Grandma was in the rose garden when a wet nose bumped her arm.
“Alex,” she wrapped her arms around his neck. “What are you doing back here?”
Bobby Hatfield
A few days later, Bobby Hatfield (cue Unchained Melody) once again knocked on Grandma’s door. “When we go on tour,” he explained, “someone comes to the apartment each day to care for Alex. But the dog manages to dodge the sitter and get out.”
Grandma began to look for Alex when she worked in the front rose garden. Sure enough, Alex came again. This time when the singer came to take Alex home Grandma had a proposal.
“He doesn’t like being left alone,” she said. “Why not let him stay here. You can see him whenever you like and he won’t be upset because you need to travel.”
My grandmother lived in Anaheim, three blocks from Disney so I could see Tinkerbell fly from the top of the Matterhorn each evening at 9:00 p.m. to signal the start of the Disneyland fireworks show. Anaheim is also where Bobby Hatfield grew up. He graduated from Anaheim High School the year I was born.
Irish Spring
Alex grew into a large, handsome, and eager companion. As a preschooler, I rode on his back down the hallway. Grandma got a female Weimaraner, which resulted in several litters of adorable puppies.
A beloved and favorite family member, Alex never got over his phobia of being left. This fear was triggered whenever someone got out a suitcase. In the summer and at Christmas, my family drove from the Bay Area to Southern California to visit Grandma.
The day we packed our suitcases to make the return drive to our Northern California home was hard on Alex. First, Alex went into the guest bathroom where he ate the bar of soap. Then I would find him on the floor in Grandma’s closet.
Pushing the clothes aside, I crawled in next to him. Patting his soft head, I tried to explain that while we were leaving, Grandma would still be with him. He would not be left alone.
About that time, Alex would burp which smelled like Irish Spring. On a good day, I coaxed him out of the closet to chase his ball.
Recently, at a family reunion in Ohio, a second cousin reminisced about visiting my Grandma in California.
“You know what I remember most?” He grinned. “That Weimaraner.”
“Alex,” I agreed. “Alex and roses.”
And, every time I hear a song by the Righteous Brothers (You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feeling, Unchained Melody), I think of a big gray dog.
May Day and Mother’s Day
Celebrate May Day and the special moms in your life by giving a copy of Everbloom: Stories of Deeply Rooted and Transformed Lives. I have a short story in this rich collection titled When A Baby Dies.
