May Day Mayday
May 1st was declared the day we here in Tuscany could go out for a walk, run or bike ride as long as we started and returned to our homes. The date was confirmed by the regional government only the day before on April 30th. Since March 9th we have been allowed to be out of our homes only for specific essential reasons. Technically we were permitted to only be within 200 yards of our homes, unless we were on our way to buy food, go to the pharmacy, doctor or work. So knowing that on May 1st - May Day - we would be able to get out to walk, to run, to bike ride, to exercise after not being able to for 52 days? That felt like some kind of Get Out Of Jail Free card. It was hardly the end of lockdown - far from it. But it was something. People living together could bike and walk together. I, of course, had plans of where I’d bike to, where I’d walk to. I’d have to go alone since I live alone. But I was sure I’d go out everyday thereafter, weather permitting.
And I did, on May 1st, have a lovely early morning bike ride on deserted streets to the trailhead that starts the hike up through the woods to the top of one of the many hills that surround Florence. Arriving at the clearing that looks down onto the historical center of Florence, where the dark red cupola of the Duomo and the brown tower of Palazzo Vecchio can easily be seen, I stopped and gazed at the city that I hadn’t seen for almost two months. So trite, but I did find myself waving, saying “Hi… I miss you.” The cloudy skies shrouding the monuments seemed appropriate for this moment in history. Turning my back on this view, I continued up the hill, to the top, to the views of other Tuscan hills to the south, that landscape of so many postcards. I wandered past pink rock roses and those plants I always grab onto, the ones you can strip of their sticky pods by grabbing lower down on the stock, pulling the pods into your hand with a swift upward sweeping tug to then immediately release them in a playful launch towards a friend’s sweater or jacket, all for the laugh that comes as the pods stick their landings. Today, though, they had no one to land on. So I let them be.
I passed by blackberry bushes and thought of how they will bear fruit later in the summer if we’re lucky enough to get rain. And I wondered what our world will look like then, just one season away. Will things be better then? Or so bad that many of us will scamper into these hills to gather what food we can from the wild? The mind does go to these extreme places sometimes. It’s as if it sends up a little test flare and distress call: mayday mayday mayday.
On my way back down, I noticed the tall linden trees and dark green elderberry bushes, all of them donned with spring blooms. I waded through the high, wet grass and plucked a few of the lacy white elderflowers. They made a small bouquet that offered up sweet perfume as I rode back home. I found myself thinking that the mayday test call from my mind must have triggered something, knowing that I had foraged these flowers not only for their temporary bouquet beauty and scent, but also so I could dip them in batter and deep fry them, sprinkle them with a bit of salt and eat their fragrant blossoms along with a glass of red wine.
Then May 2nd came around, another day I could have gone out biking, walking. But I found myself making excuses. I was actually sore from the exertion of the day before, having fallen out of shape during lockdown. It was too late in the morning now, there would be people galore out and about. But the real reason was that I didn’t feel the need to be out. My cage door had been flung open but I felt like staying put where, in the almost 2 months I’d been required by law to stay, I’d figured out how to cope and mostly, how to appreciate what it means to stop. It took all this time for my engines to rev down, for the habit of running around and running away BY running around to lose its grip. It took all this time for me to realize that the inner mayday distress calls have most likely been crying out for a while, asking for assistance for those parts of me that I so conveniently ignore because they are, well, messy and tending to them means experiencing emotions I’d rather not feel. This, after all, is why they were ignored in the first place, why I’d always chosen to just go for a bike ride instead of sit and weather the storm of whatever was bubbling to the surface.
Being stuck at home meant I was technically forced into the experience of what happens if I do answer the mayday calls and let those parts of me come to the surface. It made me physically ill sometimes and was mildly uncomfortable in others. But the pay off was that I felt I’d been sorted, kind of like when you defrag a computer, compressing all the data into neat stacks, thereby freeing up a large amount of space. Another way to look at it is that I’d Marie Kondo-ed myself. Bottom line, it felt good. It feels good to know that I can do this.
Nonetheless, I’m sure I will be venturing out of the house. There’s been a new announcement saying that starting tomorrow, May 4th we can actually now drive to places where we want to walk, be that the mountains or the seaside. We are all going to be inching our way back out into the outside world. Hopefully whatever inner changes we might have been able to garner during our time away from it will allow us to walk more tenderly in the world and with each other. And mostly with our own selves.