Hooray hooray! The first of May! Outdoor fucking begins today!

Never Done: I went hiking (walking, meandering, picnicking) on Staten Island

My friend L has a weekly Sunday ritual in which she gets out of the city and walks somewhere beautiful. She invites friends. She brings wonderful snacks. She goes no matter how many 12 hour work days she's been pulling in a row. She invited me. I decided to go on May Day.

When I was a little girl in kindergarten, we used to give each other handmade May Day Baskets, filled with candy and flowers, and dance around a May Pole -- holding on to long ribbons and weaving in and around each other, singing, dancing, and feeling the first bursts of Spring. At the time I had no idea that May Day was a workers' holiday -- just that it was a celebration of Spring, flowers, and the outdoors. Which all might sound wholesome and pastoral, except that in my house, my father would come downstairs every May Day morning, singing, "Hooray hooray! The first of May! Outdoor fucking begins today!" I've been trying to trace the origins of this chant, and curious to know what others know. Some people say it actually originated in the early 70s, and trace it to the Illuminatus! books, which does actually seem like something my dad would have read. Others attribute it to Allan Sherman in his book, The Rape of the A.P.E. (American Puritan Ethic) which I do actually remember seeing around the house. Others still attribute it vaguely and without specific reference to the 1940s, which would also make sense for my father, who was far from puritanical, especially during the 1940s. Wherever it came from, it did in fact open my mind to outdoor erotic possibilities, which is a pretty wonderful gift to receive from a father.

Wow, I have set myself up for a challenging segue. Because that's not what I was doing on May Day. Instead, I just gave you a completely misleading inner life free association, so let me bring you back to the exterior life, when my friend picked me up at 8 AM -- earlier than usual to try to avoid the road closures from the 5-boro bike tour, which I decided not to do. Our timing worked out great, because we sped to Staten Island -- were there in 15 minutes -- and called up her other friend A, who lives on Staten Island, to come with us. We found her house, picked her and her dog up, and wove our way through manicured suburban neighborhoods I didn't even know existed in NYC to the parking lot at Todt Hill, one of the good walks in the Staten Island Greenbelt.

The Greenbelt consists of more than 2,800 acres of public and private land in central Staten Island, and includes natural areas and traditional parks. 2800 acres of land, conserved in one of the 5 boroughs!?! God, I love conservation land programs. There were times in our hike (which was really a slow walk with frequent stops for good snacks) when we could see for miles and miles (oh yeah) -- all the way out to water.



And then there were other times when we picnicked under a blooming apple tree on the edge of a golf course. So wilderness it isn't, but it has more woods than I've ever seen before in NYC.

It was a gorgeous day, and I loved being out there -- but most of all, I loved being invited into someone else's ritual practice -- respecting it for what it is while also making it mine for the day. I think I was more attentive than I would have been if I was just out by myself, but more importantly for me, I gave up control of the day and went with the flow of what was instead of clinging to what I thought was going to be. And the rewards were many. Hard boiled eggs dyed and marbled in cabbage, turmeric, and coffee. Hot chocolate made with a little portable camp teapot. Cactus growing in nature (in New York!?) Another friend. Her dog. And taking it slowly, however we define "it."