As a little girl, the first day of May held one of my favorite family traditions. Along with my sister, my mother and I would make simple flower baskets by rolling sturdy paper into cones and attaching a small handle. Then, we filled the bottom of the cone with small candies before tucking in a handful of blossoms — often tulips and lilies of the valley — that we had snipped from our own backyard.

With our May Day baskets in hand, my sister and I became tiny, anonymous gift-givers. After hanging a basket on the front door of a neighbor or friend, we rang the doorbell and scampered away. The goal was to remain secret givers; if we were found out, we could be kissed by the one who found us.

It was a celebration of spring, and I adored the secrecy of leaving flowers and sweets on the doors of those I loved.