James took a different route as we were driving to the store last night. We passed some older houses with more established landscaping than we are used to in our freshly-hatched neighborhood. We drove past one house in particular, which had several striking violet-blue iris plants. I instantly found myself reminiscing about a silly yet beloved childhood memory; one I had not thought about for years, perhaps since I was a little girl. I am not quite sure where the tradition started (maybe my mom made it up), but every year on May Day I would pick fresh flowers from my mom’s beautiful garden. I would put them in a vase, leave them on a random neighbor’s doorstep, and then I would ring the door-bell and run as fast as my little legs could run.
I am pretty sure this is one of my favorite traditions ever; and one I will continue to carry on now that I have recalled it. Can you imagine opening your front door on a lovely spring afternoon to the site of freshly picked flowers? I think the finest element to the whole thing is the mysterious anonymousness. Who left these beauties on the door-step? A cute little curly-q, toe-headed girl? I love May Day now and will never let it go by without some fresh violet-blue iris’.