The pregnant sky

Waiting on a storm to change the world

Mooncast

With the beginning of the new year, I’m starting a little section in the newsletter as a companion to the Lunica Planner to help us work with the cycles of the moon throughout the year for a more intentional and abundant garden. While you can find the complete breakdown of the moon’s movements and correlating tasks for each week in the planner, I’ll offer a little snapshot to keep us on track and motivated.

My garden is currently under the snow right now, but for those who live in a milder climate, the 9th and 10th are ideal days for tending garden structures, pulling winter weeds, or clearing debris. These are the final two days before the new moon on the 11th. This fourth quarter moon combined with the infertile signs of Sagittarius and Capricorn are perfect for these maintenance tasks. New moons are days of rest in the garden, so take some time in the apothecary on the 11th instead to infuse new tinctures as we begin the cycle again.

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The Wolves by E. T. Merrill (early 1900’s)

I was deep in the woods hunting for pine resin yesterday when my emergency text alert went off. “Winter storm advisory” it read. Up to ten inches they say, and more on Friday. I knew it was coming, but the text was like a spell that summoned the essence of the storm. At that precise moment, the first few snowflakes whispered down to the ground. An omen that the sky’s child was growing low and heavy in the womb.

Soon after, Evan called to see if I needed anything before we battened the hatches. My friend, who is as pregnant as the sky, called to tell me she found out at her appointment that morning that she is dilating. She is worried her baby and the storm child will decide to arrive at the same time. The small grocery store which is always unhurried at most, has a strange relaxed type of urgency in the aisles. We’ve done this before, but it never gets old.

Then night falls and all is quiet. The sky labors ominously in silence over our roofs. The storm is coming. We hold our breath.

But it isn’t apprehension that lives on the eve of a storm. There is an undercurrent of electricity that settles in the suspense. It is the closest thing I’ve found to that childlike excitement we experienced the day before Christmas back in our youth. The anticipation of waking up to a world decorated in crystals, staying inside cozy and safe all day, a shift in the daily mundane, is enough to recapture that temporary magic.

Then the storm comes and the world is changed. A gift from some curious god that promises nothing ever stays the same, that everything can change with the wink of an eye. The sheer idea of permanence goes against the laws of divinity and nature they remind us.

The wheel is always turning, the gods laugh into the storm. Even we, despite our godliness, will fade with time. But our names and bones will be reborn as building blocks for something new entirely. Again and again and again.

The snow cocoons the land, making the quiet seem more sacred, more alive. I look up at the sky with devotion in these holy moments alone in the woods. The soil, the stars, the plants show us that true divinity never insists on being worshipped. Yet we fall to our knees for them just the same, no threat of damnation needed.

The snow continues to fall as I write this newsletter. It gives my mind permission to use this time for creative works and things that don’t require so much movement. I’m dedicating this day deep in winter to the garden. Ordering seeds, laying out the garden, dreaming of how I want this year’s garden to feel.

For those who have become paid subscribers to this newsletter (thank you so much!) I will be sharing the nuts and bolts of my medicine garden within the next few days with an illustration of the layout, what plants I’m cultivating, seed companies I love, and how I’m starting to bring it from idea to fruition.

Much love,

Val

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An invitation

What specific experiences in nature evoke these moments of divinity for you? Those moments when time seems to stand still and you just think “wow, I am so small in the grand scheme of things, but so thoroughly alive”.

For me, it is these mornings after a snowfall, floating in a lake as I let the waves hold me, looking up at the stars and a clear cold night, seeing the tiniest of seeds sprout into something new and so full of promise. Though the list goes on and on.

Feel free to use the comments below to answer, or use your own journal or the space provided in the Lunica Planner. I love reading your stories and learning from all of you wonderful creative folks.

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If you want to move deeper into a seasonal land-based life, consider ordering my 2024 edition of the Lunica Planner. Because learning to live in tune with the land doesn’t come from grand gestures or life-altering shifts, but rather from daily routines, devotions and observations of the land and how we relate to it.

This yearly planner is the love child between a farmer’s almanac and your daily lunar planner. It weaves seasonal land-based practices with modern living so that you can live more intentionally and presently within every season of your life. It was created for the plant people, the land lovers, the gardeners, and the seekers to plan their lives around the rhythms of the earth as our ancestors have for thousands of years. More than just a planner, Lunica is a practical yet spiritual guide to living, working, gardening, and celebrating in tune with the ever-shifting world around us.

Purchasing a planner also helps support this publication!

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Thank you so much for being here! I also write a subscription-based newsletter that dives deeper into the multi-layered world of plant medicine and gardening. A few extra lessons are sent out each month to help expand your understanding of the true essence of the plants and natural world. Practical recipes, case studies, tutorials and beyond are included to bring your understanding into practice.