By the Light of the Silvery Moon

A couple of weeks ago Kim called and said, “I’m cutting potatoes.  This weekend is the Full Moon.  Now is the time to plant potatoes. Meet you tomorrow morning in the garden at 7 a.m.?  Bring your own coffee.”  

Being a good rookie gardener, I listened to the sage wisdom of my coach and headed, coffee mug in hand, to the garden that early misty Friday morning.  I learned a lot that morning about growing potatoes.  The first thing I discovered is that it is hard work; back breaking work, as a matter of fact.  The traditional potato planting method involves digging ditches!  With shovel in hand, I dug about a 20 foot, six inch deep trench to bury the seed potatoes.  Potatoes can be planted whole, especially if they are small, but they are usually cut into pieces.  Because they can rot easily, the cut pieces need to be left exposed overnight in order to callus over.  Kim had a big basket full of already prepped Yukon Gold potatoes waiting to be planted.  I lined the trench with cut potatoes, the half side down with their eyes looking toward heaven before covering them with a hill of rich earth.  In a couple of hours, the potato crop was planted, just in time before the Full Moon that weekend.  The Full Moon put on quite a beautiful showing, in fact, even turning a gorgeous shade of orange-red on Saturday evening.   

Planting by the light of the Moon...who knew?  Up until now I just thought of the Moon in simple terms like one of the two great lights to mark the day and night.  Or, the verse of a nursery rhyme, “the cow jumped over the Moon;”  or the cartoon and artist depictions of the shadows that can resemble the face of “the man in the Moon.”  I watched the Apollo 11 lunar landing in 1969.  I’ve read poems about the moon and even thought at times that my husband and children “hung the Moon.”  I have vaguely known about the ocean tides and seem to recall learning about some connection between them and the Moon.  And, I’m certain if I dusted the shelves of my memory I might remember a few of the lunar cycle lessons that I was taught in my eighth grade earth science class.  I do remember creating the typical styrofoam solar system, but, apart from that I must acknowledge that I was never very good at or very interested in science in eighth grade.      

Waxing or waning?  Which is which?  It’s pretty clear to know the difference between the Full Moon and the New Moon (or the Dark Moon).  And, more importantly for gardening purposes why is it important to perform certain chores in the garden in conjunction with the phases of the moon?  Here’s a little of what I’ve learned about the Moon and why it is important to my little garden crop.  The Moon has four phases, or quarters, that last about a week each.  In the first two quarters, the Moon is waxing or increasing in light and the gravitational pull of the Moon is decreasing.  With the action of gravity lessening and the light becoming greater, this is the best time to plant vegetables with above ground growth because they put most of their growing energy above the earth.  This time is literally referred to in the Farmers’ Almanac as the period of the Light of the Moon.  Moon waning is the period after the Full Moon and up to the New Moon when the light of the moon is decreasing but the gravitational pull is increasing, drawing moisture and growing energy below the earth.  Planting root crops like potatoes to coincide with the changing gravitational pull of the moon will hopefully allow the plants to grow quicker and bigger, not to mention produce more since their growing will be in tune with the Moon’s cycle.  

The phases of the moon have guided planters for thousands of years.  Even long before Sir Isaac Newton established the laws of gravity, peoples have sought to live in rhythm and balance with creation, using the Moon as a beacon.  None of this is new, and yet it is altogether new for me, and I would like to think new with every planting season.  

I read somewhere this quote excerpted from Ute York in her book Living by the Moon:  

The old time gardeners say, ‘With the waxing of the Moon, the earth exhales...with the waning of the Moon, the earth inhales.’

I think this is such a beautiful thought; the earth somehow breathing out and breathing in with the rhythm of the light of the Moon. Our Great Creator, Ruach Elohim, the Spirit of God renewing the face of the earth even in this way.  

I don’t think I’ll look at the Moon quite the same from here on out.  

...And Sow It Begins

Today was my first day in the garden. I have spent the past few weeks reading about gardening; planning which plants I want to grow and where they will go in the garden; and, shopping for implements and seeds.  Today I got dirty.  Like an eager student on the first day of school, I packed up my supplies and headed for the freshly tilled plot that will be my gardening classroom. 

The garden is a piece of fertile earth about 10 feet wide by 20 feet long which allows me to plant 10 rows of a variety of vegetables.  My task today was to stake out the rows that will become my crop of tomatoes, beans, various kinds of squash, peppers, cucumbers, onions, beets, carrots, radishes, spinach and lettuces, okra and eggplant.  I was also able to plant some seeds for the cooler weather crops like onions, carrots and spinach.  I made furrows in the dirt where I deposited seeds of all shapes and sizes; some were round while others were flat and the arugula seeds were no bigger than the fine ground black pepper that resembles the arugula peppery taste.  Planting the purple, white and yellow onion sets was like putting them to bed, nestling them in the soft cradle of earth and covering them with a blanket of warm soil with a firm pat, tucking them in for good measure.

As I gathered up my gardening tools and brushed off the dirt from my boots, I looked back at my garden to consider the work I had just done as well as the remaining plants that will go in the ground.  Honestly, right now it doesn’t look like much other than some soil, some wooden stakes and some string.  No one could imagine that in time plant life will begin to emerge...the feathery green leaves of the carrots or their long pointed orange roots hidden deep beneath the earth or the tender smooth oval, green leaves of the spinach to come.  No one would be able to tell that there are dozens of bulbs under ground that will soon send bright green stalks signaling the presence of pungent onions that will one day be sliced on a hamburger or carmelized for a quiche.  My garden looks lifeless right now, yet it is so full of promise.

Next week is Holy Week.  Once again, the faithful will make the pilgrimage with Jesus from Jerusalem to Calvary, and then to garden tomb.  The disciples on Good Friday could not have imagined Jesus risen from the dead on Easter Sunday.  When the large stone was rolled in front of the entrance to the tomb, it didn’t look like much; all anyone saw was a big rock that indicated that Jesus’ life must be over.  Yet, that garden was full of promise, too...the promise of new life to come with his glorious resurrection...the deeply held and beautiful promise of my faith. 

Natalie Sleeth wrote one of my favorite hymns that expresses the promise of new life in Jesus Christ so beautifully:

In the bulb there is a flower, in the seed an apple tree;

In cocoons, a hidden promise, butterflies will soon be free!

In the cold and snow of winter, there’s a spring that waits to be,

Unrevealed until its season, something God alone can see.

My garden holds a hidden promise.  Unrevealed until its season, I wait and hope for something right now God alone can see.