May Baskets by Rose Gibbs May Day! Whatever happened to the wonderful custom of hanging May baskets that I remember so well? When I was 10, in 1941, we girls in our small village of Woodland, Mich., looked forward to May 1. That was the day we made May baskets, filled them with wildflowers picked from the nearby woods, and then hung them on the doorknobs at the houses of relatives and family friends. I remember that particular May Day for a special reason. My girlfriend, Phyllis, came home with me from school. My mother gave us some flowery wallpaper she had saved. Phyllis and I cut and pasted together several small, cone-shaped baskets, and then pasted handles onto them. (Back then, our paste was a small bit of flour mixed with water until thick and smooth.) While the baskets dried, we hurried to the woods and picked a bag full of wildflowers. When we got back to my house, we spread the flowers all over the kitchen table. We had a good time making colorful bundles out of the flowers and placing them in the wallpaper baskets. Then we started off on our mission to grace several homes with our lovely May Day gifts. The object was to carefully approach a house, hang a May basket on the doorknob, knock or ring the doorbell, and then run like crazy so the recipient wouldn't see who the giver was. When Phyllis and I began delivering our baskets that May 1, we went to two favorite teachers first: Mrs. Hilbert, a Sunday school teacher, and Mrs. Spindler, our fifth-grade teacher. Our village sidewalks were lined with maple trees that were just the right size for skinny girls to hide behind. We hung May baskets on their doorknobs, knocked, and then ran to hide behind the trees. We stood there giggling until we heard the door open, a call of "Thank you!" and the door close. Then we moved on to deliver the rest of our precious gifts. We didn't know back then just how precious those wildflowers were. Years later they were put on the endangered species list, and it became illegal to pick them. When we were older, sharing "remember when" stories with our elders, we were surprised to hear that children who gave May baskets weren't the only sneaky ones. We had never dreamed that our May basket recipients would close their doors and then watch out a window to see who had left the basket. In those days, girls always wore dresses. On this fateful day I had chosen to wear my favorite dress. It was green and had a pleated skirt. The insides of the pleats were green-and-white paisley. I loved to feel the pleated skirt swishing around my legs as I walked. Phyllis and I had such a good time that evening, hiding and watching with affection as our May baskets were discovered. Then came the event that made this memory. As I was running to hide after hanging one of my last May baskets, I tripped on an uneven piece of sidewalk and sprawled flat. I not only skinned my hands and knees, but I ruined the last basket--and I tore the skirt of my favorite dress. Mother said it was beyond repair. I cried harder over my loss than I did over my physical wounds. I don't recall that I ever hung May baskets again.