Thank you for continuing this herbal journey with me! I send out free weekly newsletters about my experience as an herbalist and a gardener. Become a paid subscriber to receive bonus practical plant lessons throughout the month. These digestible newsletters help build solid knowledge and wisdom quickly, without the overwhelm and time commitment of a typical linear course style.
My self-published Lunica Planner is also available with in depth writings and resources to guide you through the herbal garden year.
3.17.24 ~ First Quarter Moon ~ 12:11 am EST
{ Instead of sending a newsletter on a random weekday, I’ll be sending them on each new moon phase }
The first garden
It was my Eden, my Babylon, my secret, that first garden. Many mythologies say the garden is a reflection of Paradise, the heavens beyond, this thing that is conjured by the intangible alchemy between human and earth. To be invited to wield such divinity is an initiation, then a gift, a magic we don’t quite realize we hold.
The tiny apartment balcony made of wood peeled, but my heart bloomed. I bought any container that would hold soil from the thrift store, found out the hard way that pots need drainage holes too. I painted them Sunkist orange to match my coffee table. Then I crafted crude clay sculptures to peek around the flowers, cut up and stacked pallets to make a bench, let the cats enjoy little hiding spots between the pots, hung handmade lanterns at night so I could be sure this dream wouldn’t disappear in the dark.
My bedroom smelled like a greenhouse, all seedling growth and soil decay. Some baby plants on each window and under the single grow light I purchased along with the cheap Jiffy seed starting trays and soil. The tilth littered the carpet, spread like compost by curious cats and my own busy hands. The vacuum grumbled with its increased unpaid labor. I escaped the winter those days in that warm room so full of life.
The seedlings that didn’t die from my noviceness made it to the promised land, that second floor outdoor altar to the green gods. Garden center petunias, marigolds, snapdragons, vines, a mini hibiscus tree and a dahlia in a pot filled in the gaps of my seedling lack. They bloomed and bloomed, at least as well as I could keep them watered.
Once, a handful of soil fell on my downstairs neighbor’s patio. Her angry knock at my door, her infuriated words, my apologies, sweeping up the dirt, whispering under my breath there are so many more important things to be that mad about. Looking around, I saw she wasn’t growing a single plant on that concrete slab. Maybe that was the problem.
In those days I never questioned if I was enough, if I was doing enough, if what I was doing was important. Outraged neighbors offended by a bit of soil never bothered me, never made me question if I was a good person. I believed that to grow a garden was to plant faith in the future of a bleeding world, and that was enough. I still believe that, don't I? But when did those questions creep in so incessantly?
I kept that first garden to myself, a piece of me the world could not touch. Captured and remembered in just a few subpar photos, it didn’t make its way to social media. It could barely be seen from that black hot parking lot. Just me, the flowers, the cats, and the occasional friend who came to sit among the leaves. Maybe that was the solution.
We moved in the middle of summer. I dismembered the first garden while it was in full bloom. I gave the pots to friends who could tend them. I mourned that loss, all hope and fresh dreams. But then a text came with a picture: “a whole bowl full of peppers from one plant!” and all was well.
The first garden always lingers. Once you plant the seed, it is no longer only yours, no matter how quietly you keep it. It expands beyond physical and virtual confines, becomes a shapeshifter, highlights your failures, fertilizes your growth, follows you from soil to soil, becomes a folktale in your own story. Still, the lesson ushered in from cosmic whisperings and divine planning is always the same. Some folks will curse your dirt, others will be nourished by it, this thing you created.
{ The only photos from the first garden }
Mooncast
As the soil warms, it’s a good time to start observing the movements of the moon and how they relate to our gardens. If you’re in a warmer climate than I am, focus in on the 18th and 19th this week. These two days are particularly great for planting annual flower and fruiting crops in the soil because the moon will be entering its second quarter (the ideal time for planting these types of plants) and these two days will be under the fertile sign of Cancer. This intersection makes it a particularly potent time to do this task.
I also think it’s important to mention that sowing plants by the moon is only relevant if you are direct seeding. If you are starting seeds indoors, this doesn’t apply as much until you transplant your seedlings into the garden. The soil, water table, and direct influence of the moon is what makes this method effective.
If it’s still too cold where you are, the 18th and 19th are also good times to spread compost on garden beds as we begin to prepare for planting out. Often we wait until the fourth quarter moon to spread compost, but the fertile sign of Cancer makes it a good alternative period to feed the soil.
{ More in depth writings and resources regarding moon and herb gardening available in this year’s Lunica Planner. }
Much love,
Val
I can relate to "is it enough" once you take your love/ passion to the business realm. ARG= Side note, love your writing, love your offerings... and hope you can find your authentic rhythm of offering. May your garden flourish and nourish
Ahhhhh all the truths🥰