A blue May Day for a green redhead

Jeannette, the redhead

Long rainy wet winters probably make spring look twice as desirable; with the first daffodils, pussywillows or crocus my spirits would soar. I no longer had to draw and paint them to enjoy them. We would watch for a month the snowballs, wild currant, tulips, and wild trillium, and memorize their locations so we could pick them for May baskets.

Mother made a list of widows and persons with troubles or illness. On May 1 we would fashion little baskets with handles out of brightly colored paper, fill them with fresh flowers, put them on the door handle, ring the door bell and run and hide. I think everyone knew where they came from as they knew Mother was from the British Islands and Canada where May baskets and Maypole dances prevailed. 

We once had a Maypole dance at Multnomah School and we practiced winding our streamers in a pretty design around the poles. Each girl was designated a different pastel color for her ribbons and dress; when Mother learned I had been given pink (one of my favorite colors) she went to school and told them I never, ever, ever could wear pink because of my bright red hair and I could only wear green, blue, or brown. Brown was out of the question and another mother has already insisted her blond daughter wear blue so I was given pale green and after I had gone in circles forever watching that green ribbon in my green ruffles I temporarily suffered from Mother's biliousness. Mother's so brainwashed me on this subject I dared not wear any other colors until I was 21.