It’s a fine May Day morning here on the Left Coast. A bit of fog lingering, rapidly thinning. The sun is just beginning to warm the chill morning air.
May Day is traditionally a day of diverse messages: a celebration of spring with May baskets, May pole dancing, burgeoning flowers, beautiful young women in flouncy dresses, colorful and raucous parades. More recently than the ancient tradition, May Day was declared a worker’s holiday commemorating the Haymarket affair, when a demonstration in support of an eight-hour for day turned into riots when police fired on the crowd. In some countries, May Day became a celebration of militarism and imperialist excess, demonstrating the folly of humans with access to too much power and too little wisdom.
The historical context of this day seems to have been lost to the current generation of cell-phone impaired and distracted youth and the overweening culture of consumerism, newsertainment and political inanity. Few May baskets are left on porches these days, May poles rarely grace school yards with fluttering ribbons, and many workers think of an eight hour day, if they think of it at all, as a nostalgic luxury.
Nevertheless, it is indeed Spring, the Earth, in our hemisphere, is slowly warming, migrant songbirds fill the air with their optimistic songs, patient greenery stretches both up and down, striving for sun and warmth, drops of sparkling dew trembling on leaf tip and grasping tendrils, deepening their roots into the warming soil.
Let’s celebrate May Day on this fecund Earth as a day of renewal, revival, and rededication to saving what little is left of the wild, not just for future human generations, but for itself and its own well-being.