Wheel of the Year: May Day

If the year is divided in halves, May Day, or Beltane, marks the true beginning of the warm half for those of us in Appalachia. Dogwood winter, the harshest of the little winters, has ended, and the breeze on the evening air is warm and sweet. Flowers bloom everywhere. Bees and butterflies flutter and buzz. And hopeful young women wash their faces in the dew of the morning of May Day. Technically the season of Beltane runs from the late days of April through the early days of May with the evening of April 30th and then May 1st being the main event. On May Day young people dance around the maypole, wear a garland of flowers in their hair, and in some times and some places consummated their marriage to be—or maybe just engaged in some heavy petting—by the light of the season’s first bonfires.

Speaking of bonfires, once upon a time I knew a guy, “Alec,” who was born on April 30th, which is known as Walpurgisnacht. Night of the Witches Alec would say with a sly grin and bounce on his toes, waggling his eyebrows at me. I was desperately in love with him and was nearly consumed by the fires of May Day for him. I yearned and burned and tried very hard to have a child with him. 

But at the time I had an actual boyfriend, To., who happened to live all the way across the ocean in Germany. He chuckled when I asked him about Walpurgisnacht. You won’t be surprised that the holiday is not actually a big deal amongst young, cosmopolitan Germans. The fires of my Beltane burned for To. as well, but they were no match for the ocean between us. 

The May Day season of my life has passed; and all its drama—for there were far more characters than Alec and To. in those days! As many as the petals of a dandelion. Oh how I did burn. The Beltane fires still flare on a regular basis, but I’m in no danger of being consumed. Somehow, by the magic of the seasons of life, I’ve learned to refocus that burning energy to things more productive—my work and writing life, managing the care and feeding of my children and the doggos. It’s nice to be grounded, to burn with the steady flame of a sturdy candle rather than a roaring bonfire.

Yet, you might find me out in the early morning, a crown of flowers in my hair, washing my face in the Beltane dew.

I was actually laughing here because I felt ridiculous. But I kind of like how it turned out. (A woman, eyes closed, lying on the ground with flowers.)