"Grace's recollections of the melodious month of May" from the May 15, 1979 Door County Advocate
By Grace Samuelson
Grace's recollections of the melodious month of May
By Grace Samuelson
May is really a melodious month. Makes you feel like singing. The snow (except for occasional flurries) is gone; tulips and daffodils come out of hiding, buds on the trees are opening. Birds sing as they build nests. The winds have a melody, too, from roaring tempo sounds to whispering zephers. Spring rains tap out patty-cake lullabies on the roof, or swish and swing with disco beat. Even the dreary, stay-inside days, when we sort over things for the annual "Clean-up" time finds us warbling old time melodies.
The big thing for many of us, while we were growing up in the early 1900's was the May Day surprise. We made little construction paper baskets, at school or at home, and the last day of April we went gathering wild flowers (if we could find any that early). Then early May Day morning we filled the baskets. If no wild flowers were to be found, we made crepe paper roses. We hung the baskets over the door knob of our best friend's house. Some of the schools had May-pole dances, and one memorable year I had the thrill of going down to Lawrence college with Mr. and Mrs. George Washburn for their May Day festivities. Vera was attending Lawrence then and I remember when she introduced me to her friends, they seemed surprised that my hair was blond and her's so dark. She said; "There are four of us girls, and we each have hair a different color: mine dark brown, Verna's light brown, Grace's blond, and Marian's red." I was a high school sophomore then, and felt very grown-up, especially as the Washburns stopped at a restaurant on the way home. We seldom had a chance to eat out.
Now May 1 is known as Law Day; also the day the Russians and other militaristic nations demonstrate their show of force and power. (I wonder what Brezhnev would do with a May basket, or watch a May-pole dance?)
Back then we made plans for observing Mother's Day. I was 10 when President Wilson signed a resolution establishing the second Sunday in May as Mother's Day. Anna Jarvis was the originator of the idea, and she worked hard to obtain that resolution. In later years she became a bitter woman, because she said that it was turned into a day for profit for merchants instead of merely honoring mothers. The first Mother's Day I remember was simply observed by wearing a pink carnation to church if your mother was living, or a white one if she wasn't. Then, greeting cards, gifts of candy and flowers were suggested. Later, commercialism took hold and advertisements for "gifts for Mother" ranged from perfume and candy to luxury items. Those early Mother's Days, I recall, we embroidered monograms on hankies, and proudly brought home the white carnation Mama would wear next day to church. The minister always preached a sermon about motherhood. We had a record for the Victrola (by Galli Curci, I believe) "Songs My Mother Taught Me," and someone always sang "Mother Machree." When people began having radios in their homes lovely and sentimental programs filled the airwaves. And, from the little pansy plants in paper cups that the children in Sunday school classes brought home to Mom, to elaborate presents and taking mother out to eat on "her" day, Mother was really special. Every greeting card is cherished, especially the hand colored ones made in school or at home. The legacy my own Mother left that I treasure most was the little slips of paper I found in her Bible: memorandums, quotes of poetry, parts of letters from her daughters expressing love, favorite bible verses, a lock of each daughter's hair. Every one expressed to me the real "Tollie": my mother. Mother and daughter banquets through the years bring memories, too, and I recall the year Mother, dressed as a pioneer mother, related details of her own pioneer upbringing, and read her tribute to her mother.
Housecleaning was usually all done by that time of the year; the house was soap, water, and ammonia-clean. We were through with beating the rugs with the heavy wire carpet beater, lugging the aired clothes back upstairs to hang in the well-scrubbed closets. Now we were set to raking the lawn, sprouting the old potatoes in the cellar; carrying up the stored vegetables too-far gone to be used. A farmer came to plow all the gardens in our neighborhood, and we raked and smoothed, and helped plant leaf lettuce, radishes, and Papa's favorite, pepper cress. When we had the chance we'd hike out to the big creek and watch boys spearing suckers. The nicest part about living in town was that we were so close to the country. We kept a lookout for the meadowlarks, bluebirds, bob-o-links, thrush, and orioles.
The 17th of May meant Norwegian Independence Day to many of our neighbors; to us it was Marian's birthday, and we always felt that "good luck" played a part in that. We three small girls were out in the yard with Mama when I found a four-leaf-clover. Mama told me to make a wish, and put the leaf in the bible. I wished for a baby, and, sure enough, one morning when we got up we were told that Dr. Kreutzer had brought us a baby sister in his little black bag! We were so excited, and I remember that Mama got out of bed one evening shortly after that to see Haley's comet from the west bedroom window. I was six, and I remember seeing that; its long tail streaming across the western sky.
The big question at this time of every year was whether we'd have frost when the cherry blossoms were open. The year Marian was born, I remember hearing the Stanton Minors and Alex Johnsons talking about the early bloom. Most years we could expect blossoms around Memorial Day. Whether the blossoms came early or late, they were always breath-taking. We had small orchards all around our Poplar st. home at that time, but always everyone made an attempt to ride out in the country to see the lovely expanse of miles of white blossoms, and just a little later, the beautiful pink and white of the apple blossoms. You could live all your life in Door County and never lose the thrill of that glorious promise.
Memorial Day was approaching, and in all the years I was in grade school I can remember getting ready for that big day. We called it Decoration Day, and assembled at the school, our bouquets of violets, spring beauties, mayflowers and trilliums, (with some lilac branches if they were open) wrapped in damp newspaper to keep them from wilting. We marched in a body down to Bayside cemetery, where we set flags on the old soldiers' graves, and decorated them with the flowers we'd gone picking after school the day before. There was always a program, with Spanish American war veterans, and a few Civil War veterans who were left. They always rode in one of the automobiles. We thought we had an individual part of the program, as we claimed "Grandpa" Grandy, who lived across the street from us, with his daughter and son-in-law, Mr. and Mrs. Wil Maples. We loved to sit on their porch steps and hear him relate stories of his part in that war. He was a Cavalryman; once his horse was shot right from under him in battle. There were always speeches: Judge Graass, Lifwyer Wagner, and other good orators. And Memorial Day always meant the first picnic day of the year, with the potato salad, boiled ham sandwiches, Mama's burnt leather cake, and, of course, homemade ice cream.
It was the time of year for dandelion greens, wilted with a hot vinegar and bacon dressing, or just doused with cider vinegar from Papa's cut-glass vinegar cruet that was always on the table, near his place. Some years there were early radishes and onions, and we snitched the tender stems of the rhubarb plants even before Mama could get enough to make one of her luscious pies. We hunted asparagus spears (sparrow-grass, some called it) growing wild in the fields, spring onions and baby radishes from the garden, and looked forward to the 4th, when strawberries would be ripe. The mason jars on the fruit cellar shelves were thinning out now, though there was still some sauce, and pickles left. Now that housecleaning days with its rush and labor were over, there wasn't the need for one-dish meals, except on wash-days, or ironing days. Before we got electricity in the house, we used sad-irons for Tuesday's ironing. Once, when I wanted to iron my favorite doll's dress, I put my doll's sad-iron right on the coals to heat. First thing I knew, it was red hot, and Mama told me I'd ruined the iron — the temper. I realized that I had to watch my own temper, but I had no idea that an iron had one!
There is something about visiting cemeteries at this time of year that harks back to old customs; families fixing up the graves of loved ones; planting flowers and carrying water for them to grow. There are many beautiful little cemeteries (64 in all, I believe) in the county. Now, most of them have perpetual care, but there are still neglected plots with sunken graves, and mossy headstones. What used to be the Samuelson family cemetery, later turned over to the township, is still a lovely restful place to me. When we were in the restaurant, I used to walk over there almost every morning; there was a tranquility there. We always put a new flag on the grave of Job Sweet, the Civil War soldier buried there decades ago.
I asked Mrs. Ida Johnson if they did anything special in Sweden, where she grew up, to observe Memorial Day. She said the last Sunday in May was always the day all the families put flowers on the graves — beautiful white blossoms which grew all around, although they also had mayflowers, and spring beauties, and violets. Sweden was a peaceful country, so there was no need of commemorence of soldier dead. But, she said, in November of every year, the families put candles in metal lanterns on every grave, a symbol of the Light everlasting.
Nowadays, when Memorial Day has been moved to Monday, to extend a weekend*,* we no longer observe the day as we used to. On the real date — the 30th — the Veterans will gather in uniform; sound taps, and hear a few words of tribute. And Memorial Day, and May, will have rendered the spring overture. We remember.
Courtesy of the Door County Library Newspaper Archive
Articles by Grace Samuelson
https://doorcounty.substack.com/t/grace-samuelson