MAY BASKETS by
Sara Etgen-Baker
One crisp November morning my mother dressed me in heavy
corduroy slacks; wrapped me in my father’s flannel shirt; then stuffed me into her
bulky sweater. “Here,” she handed me my
slouchy-knit, oversized beanie cap, “you’ll need this to keep your head and
ears warm.”
I slipped the cap over my head. “Now come outside with me.” Once outside she handed me a brown paper sack
whose contents smelled like wet dirt. “We
need to plant bulbs before the first hard freeze.” I knelt on the ground next to mother and
breathed in the soft scent of the dewy morning grass and the earthy smell of
freshly turned over soil.
“I’ve already dug the holes.
So take each bulb from the bag; drop it in the hole; and then gently
push the dirt back into the hole covering the bulb—like so.”
I opened the sack.
“These bulbs are ugly and look dead, mother!”
“Yes, they’re not at all pretty, but they’re not dead; they’re
just sleeping until spring.”
“And they all look
alike.” I continued covering the bulbs squishing
the wet dirt between my fingers. “How do
we know what they’ll look like come spring?”
“We won’t know for
sure until spring, but that’s the joy of gardening. We’ll just have to be patient.”
Soon after planting
the bulbs, the autumn winds arrived shaking the leaves off the trees. The days shortened, and the nights closed in
chilly and long. By December, the snow
and harsh sleet came and the birds disappeared from mother’s garden. I often stood on the back porch and watched
my warm breath mingle with the icy cold air wondering if the bulbs in her
garden would come alive in spring. In
January and February sunless, harsh days prevailed; and winter’s dreariness
settled over me. Although mother’s
garden was frozen and bare, all winter long I clung to the hope that the
flowers would one day bloom. Eventually winter’s
harsh sleet became rain, and sunshine drenched the earth once again. But without the gentle spring heat nothing
grew in mother’s garden—not even the weeds. Then March arrived bringing the
sun’s warm rays. Once more my breaths
were invisible, and the birds and butterflies returned to mother’s garden.
Then one day in late April I strolled past the garden. “Mother!”
I hollered. “Hurry!”
"Sara, what is it?
Are you alright?"
"I’m fine. But it's the flowers, Mother. Purple petals are poking through the ground!"
“Perfect! They’ll be
ready at just the right time.”
A few days later, the flowers that had been tight buds began
opening, revealing a deeper purplish-blue. I stretched out my fingers to touch
the silky soft petals; they were cooler than I’d expected and smoother too. I
laid my head to the ground and tried willing them to open faster.
“Mother Nature has
its way,” mother assured me. “And She’s
not ready yet. But a few more warm days, and the flowers will bloom. Just wait.
We need to be ready, though.”
So a few days later mother took me to the local five and
dime store where she gathered up tissue paper, assorted colored ribbons, note
cards, and all the discounted Easter baskets she could put into her shopping
cart. “Okay, now we’re ready.” Mother gathered up her purchases and scurried
out the door.
“Ready for
what?” I grabbed a handful of the
baskets and followed her outside.
Mother loaded up the station wagon then turned toward
me. “To make May Baskets, of course.”
“May Baskets? What
are May Baskets?”
“They are small baskets filled with fresh flowers
and secretly left at someone's doorstep. The giver leaves the basket on the
porch, rings the doorbell, and runs away.”
Her eyes sparkled. “So when we
get home, we’ll cut the flowers in the garden and make May Baskets. Then tomorrow, we’ll rise early and deliver
them to our neighbors. Doesn’t that
sound like fun?”
“But…but…I waited all winter for the
beautiful flowers to bloom. And…and…I
thought we’d keep them forever.” My face
tightened, and I bit my lower lip.
“Instead, we’re taking them from the garden and giving them away AND not
telling our neighbors?”
“I know you’re disappointed, Sweetie, but flowers—like
kindness—must be shared. Their beauty is
not ours to keep. You understand?”
“No!”
I tilted my head down and frowned.
“I don’t understand. I want to
keep the flowers…forever.”
“Sure you do, Sweetie. But in
the end you’ll understand. Every drop of
kindness you give away returns to bless you in another way. Wait and see.”
So later that afternoon, we snipped most of
the flowers from mother’s garden and arranged colorful bouquets. We tied each bouquet together with ribbon;
wrapped it in tissue paper; and placed each one in the refrigerator to stay
fresh overnight.
“Before you going to bed, you’ll need to
write this message on the note cards. ‘A
May Day Basket is a welcome spring treat.
Someone thinks you’re special and sweet’. And remember to use your best
handwriting.” Afterwards, I headed to
bed fitfully falling asleep.
Shortly after dawn the next morning, mother
woke me singing, “It’s May! It’s
May! The lovely month of May!” She flipped my covers off me. “It’s May!
It’s May! Time to deliver the
bouquets!”
Still blurry-eyed, I helped mother as she
loaded the bouquets into my brother’s wagon.
Then we began our journey through the neighborhood. At each house, we’d hide behind shrubs. I’d grab a basket; run to the front door; leave
the basket on the porch; and then ring the doorbell, giggling as I ran for
cover behind the shrubs. We’d watch our
neighbor’s as they looked up and down the street for who’d left the May basket
at their doorstep.
Mother was right, of course. I was having fun secretly delivering May
Baskets throughout the neighborhood. And
at some level I understood the life lesson she was trying to teach me—kindness
and giving are their own reward.
