Editor’s note: This commentary is by Walt Amses, a writer who lives in North Calais.
“We know what we are, but know not what we may be”
— William Shakespeare
Will, as always, has a pretty valid point, although it’s somewhat of an outlier, given my situation. Full disclosure: I found this gem while looking for a brilliant utterance regarding May, the month, rather than may, the model verb, as the Bard is using it here. I presume I landed on the quote simply because the word may is contained therein. No matter. I’ll assume he’s flexible enough to allow me a little leeway, hence: “We know when May will happen, but we know not what to expect.” Because this month can be just as fickle as most of the other 11, maybe even a little more so.
Our present May is no exception. Considering what’s happening in Vermont as well as the rest of the world, May 2020 was never going to have a shortage of weird anyway, but we might just exceed that. “Like a science fiction movie” has become the go-to description of what it feels like as we cope with the unprecedented Covid-19 pandemic. With many of our old routines, on hold, we try hard to replace them with new ones. People I know were counting on the days becoming warmer and brighter to ease them along toward tranquility (a touch of sanity would probably do), figuring May would be the charm. Well, it might. But maybe not quite yet.
Perhaps, while you’re reading this with your Saturday morning coffee, depending on where in Vermont you reside, you may be mesmerized by what’s happening outside your window, as a fresh blanket of what looks very much like snow embraces the tender seedlings in the garden. With everything else you’ve needed to absorb these past two months, snow almost two months after winter’s end might just inch you ever closer to the edge. Two things: If you’re seeing it, yes, it’s real, but it’ll probably be gone in a day or two; and even though it rarely comes up as one of the months you should be wary of, May is not nearly as trustworthy as you might think.
It’s uncertain how much faith you can have in a month that begins with “May Day,” whose meaning is pretty much up for grabs, depending on your political beliefs, religious affiliation or if you’re in a leaky vessel encircled by hungry sharks. Celebrations abound, including for things like International Workers Day; agricultural festivals dating back to ancient Greece; and in another of Catholicism’s long tradition borrowing holidays from the pagans, Mary — God’s daughter-in-law — became the “Queen of May.” Also synonymous with being in deep fertilizer, May Day became a globally recognized distress signal in the early 20th century based on sounding like the French translation of “Help Me” — m’aider.
However it begins, here in the United States May ends with Memorial Day, moved from the 30th to the last Monday of the month, providing a long weekend that traditionally kicks off summer as well as no small controversy. The switch took place in 1971 when Memorial Day became a federal holiday and what was originally intended as a solemn occasion honoring Americans lost in battle morphed into beach, beer, barbecue and the Indianapolis 500. Until his death in 2012, Sen. Daniel Inouye of Hawaii, a World War II veteran and Medal of Honor recipient, led the fight to restore Memorial Day to its original date.
The remainder of May has something for everyone: Almost anything you’d want and several things you might not want at all. Here in Vermont, even a freak snowfall can’t prevent the landscape from changing, trees budding and temperatures warming. Coupled with the lengthening days, our collective mood is often elevated toward something approaching joy, which feels exactly like what we need right now, an explosion of life somewhat diminishing the permeating dread.
Where we live the loons have been back for weeks and purple martins are refueling on myriad insects after a long flight from South America, soaring and swirling above Nelson Pond. Amorous suckers crowd the adjacent brook, making their way upstream. Poor man’s salmon, their vigorous trysting sometimes landing them on the bank, prompting a rescue mission. Unbridled lust isn’t the only hazard these bottom feeders face on their annual quest for posterity. Newly awakened snapping turtles, inconspicuous as underwater boulders, are hungry for breakfast and deceptively quick, often scripting a violent finale to the love story of an inattentive fish.
We try to save as many salamanders as we can before our backs give out and always feel a twinge of regret for the ones molded into the road surface like monogrammed stationery from a Central American hotel. It’s not unusual on these walks to encounter bald eagles, Canada geese, an osprey, herons and as the water warms, hefty trout rising to a variety of insect hatches.
But this Mother’s Day weekend sounds fairly ominous from this vantage point, with not only that possibility of snow, but temperatures forecast to be 20 to 25 degrees below normal with some gusty winds, making it feel more like March. Weather more suited to wood stoves than meandering over back roads. But don’t fret, it’s temporary. May still has a couple of weeks to do its magic. And if that doesn’t work … there’s always June.
