The Wheel of the Year

Upon the first of May,

With garlands fresh and gay,

With mirth and music sweet,

For such a season meet,

They passe their time away.

—Traditional English song, reprinted in Herb Gardening in Five Seasons by Adelma Grenier Simmons

I love the seasons, and I love the way they pull me along with them into new phases of my life as they change. With my melanin-challenged skin and migraines that make me sensitive to light, I have tended to dread the intense sun of the summer. I used to start dreaming about Halloween in April, as if I could wish the in-between seasons away. But like a lot of things, I’ve learned that if I go with it—if I decide to embrace the obviously beautiful aspects of the season along with the blessings that are harder for me to recognize—I stand to gain a lot more. Living in season, a concept I first started thinking about thanks to the writing of Waverly Fitzgerald, has been a big part of that. Diving deeper into the reality of the day I find myself in, rather than trying to work against it. I might prefer the cool air and rich colors of autumn, but I’ll be damned, in summer the song really does sing itself.

In an essay about the holiday, Fitzgerald says that May Day, like Halloween—which is opposite May Day on the Wheel of the Year (I love that, the idea of the year as a wheel that keeps on turning)—is a time when the veil is thin between this world and the other one, and spirits can wander freely. Does that sound goofy to you? Maybe it shouldn’t. If you live in a part of the world where spring is turning into summer, go outside. See how it makes you feel. When I step out back I find myself in a messy little garden, a different world from the one inside my house. It’s full of life and color, and the weather is moody from hour to hour. The clouds move swiftly and surprise me with the rain that we need to make everything grow. There’s a wildness in the air.

There are many traditions around the world that mark this time of year with a festival. In northern Europe, where my people are from, the May Day festival was called Beltane, and there was dancing and drinking and maybe some sexy stuff too. Revels. I like that word, and I like the idea, too. The celebration has a feeling of abandon, of letting the wildness of nature inhabit your mind and body for awhile. Goodness knows I need that sometimes, don’t you?

Anyway, it happens that a small anniversary is coming up for me this month. I started keeping this blog four years ago, in May of 2015. Sometimes I feel like anniversaries and birthdays aren’t worth marking—like, who cares that another year has passed in the life of this blog that I really only keep for myself? But marking the passage of time gives us a chance to reflect on the things that have happened and the work we’ve done. I’m proud to have made this space where I can work through some of my ideas, and to have shown up to it, to have kept a commitment I made to myself and to anyone who’s reading this. I’m proud of some of the things I’ve written here, too. This spring, I wish you fruitfulness in your life, that you have the courage to hatch a plan you’ve been making and nurture it along. No matter how humble the plan is, how small your ambitions may seem to you, don’t talk yourself out of them. If you feel drawn to something, I promise you that’s reason enough to let it flourish.

may day
Spring, Lawrence Alma Tadema, 1894

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