Joy...Regardless
A reflection on motherhood, lineage and May Day
My daughter is 2, and I am carrying her on my back on our daily walk. The red branches are emerging on tree limbs; buds that will become leaves are surfacing on the woody stems, and things are pushing up from the crispy ground.
She gently reaches to touch a branch with her little hand as I point these things out to her. Mother Nature is telling us an important story through these signs: life is cyclical, circular, not linear.
Five years later, walking hand in hand after a deep loss for our family, I speak this story again over her broken heart and remind her that Mother Nature says death is not the end of the story, and there are signs that we can see before our very eyes.
Since my daughter was born 10 years ago, I have intentionally made the pilgrimage to the Maypole Parade and Dance at the Folk School every year. The Folk School has always offered a return for me, to my home, and my soul values.
My heart recognizes itself here more than any other place. For 50 years, I have been formed, both personally and professionally, by the lived commitments and visible priorities of this place.
We return to May Day not just for the obvious cultural and communal reasons, but also for an experience that is a tangible reminder of the tree branch lesson that life is not a line but a circle, and we have celebrated its return for centuries.
Like every Folk School experience (and I have had many), the May Day Parade has meant different things to me in different seasons of my life.
This year finds me entering a particularly dark and painful one. I know I am not alone in crossing the threshold of fear and anxiety; we all have our troubles. I find myself desperate for the persistence of beauty and the courageous insistence that light and life always reemerge.
The image of our whimsical, giant puppets parading alongside our laughter, culminating in people of all varieties and stories surrounding a tall, colorful, ribboned pole situated in a grassy meadow among the mountains of the Southern Highlands, imprints itself in my memory, depositing itself into a reservoir of hope.
My body remembers the drums, the smell of the grass and fresh flowers, and the movement of the dance when my daughter and I were invited to join in, her hand in mine…celebrating our life together.
This will become my anchor so that when the darkness comes, I can remember this collective happiness as another one of the signs pointing me to notice: the buds on the branches, things pushing up from the ground, the sounds of our fiddles and our singing voices dancing around the Maypole, our hands in each other’s, moving forward together.
It is my heart’s desire that it will become my daughter’s anchor as well, the memory of halcyon days dancing with her mother. These are the signs we can see before our very eyes.
I offer thanks for the blessing of the John C. Campbell Folk School in our family’s story. There we live the truth that we can anchor ourselves to beauty and each other, and in doing so, we’ll make a way.
We can know joy…regardless.
Story: Chris Dockery, JCCFS Board Member
Chris Dockery, MFA, PhD, is Professor of Art & Art Education in the Department of Visual Arts at the University of North Georgia and serves on the Board of Directors of the John C. Campbell Folk School. Deeply rooted in the rich and ever-evolving story of Appalachia, she carries its traditions, beauty, and resilience in her soul, an inheritance shaped by generations past and lovingly passed forward through her daughter.