Under the wood cutter's moon

Apothecary News: Thank you so much for a wonderful pre-order launch of the 2024 Lunica Planner! This project has become not just something that I love with every fiber, but also a much appreciated financial support for my work. Many of you asked about a digital version of the planner, especially for those who are outside of the U.S. and yes! I am working on a digital version as well. It should be available for download within the next few weeks and I will of course post updates about that.

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The best compliment I’ve ever received was being called “fearless”. Not because it’s true of course. I collect fears like river stones in my mental basket, even as I try to toss them back into the stream as often as I can. But I think it’s more about the possibility of it, or maybe the impossibility of it. It is the way it settles on my skin, almost forbidden and beckoning.

As a woman, it is a badge of honor to be called “compassionate”, “nurturing”, “kind”, “caring”. Or the compliments that describe you in relation to someone else: a good mother, good daughter, good wife, good grandmother. Even to be called “courageous” seems like a consolation prize for stepping slightly out of your comfort zone.

But fearless, that is an attribute that was so often only given to the masculine, the heroes of the story. To be bestowed a word so precious is a gift that continues to push me forward when I want to shrink away from things that are bigger or more powerful than I think I can handle. It is something to embody, even if I can’t fully become it. { Fear, after all, is a primal instinct that has kept us alive since the days when we dwelt in caves. It too serves a purpose. }

This precipice between summer and fall calls to that masculine side of our spirit. Since humans first made fire, we have been cutting wood each year to heat our homes. Still, in my neck of the woods, the songs of crickets and tree frogs are replaced with the hum of chainsaws during these weeks when the weather begins to cool.

Evan and I go through eight to ten cords of wood each year ourselves from October to May. And each year we migrate deep into the woods with the others, the song of the saw somewhere in the distance being the only notion that we aren’t completely alone. We cut the dead hardwood, entering us into a mutually beneficial relationship with the forest. Because when forests are tended mindfully, cutting wood can actually improve the health of the ecosystem. By clearing dead trees we reduce potential fire starters and improve air flow, making room for the smaller trees to expand and grow skyward.

Evan cuts while I haul the wood back to the trailer. Both jobs are equally taxing, but this year I decided to be the one to cut. Evan doesn’t have the best luck with chainsaws, so after his most recent incident, I asked myself why couldn’t I take on the main role while he took on the supporting one?

So I bought my own chainsaw, a bit smaller yes, but just as powerful. Then we waited for the waning moon. This is the best time to cut trees to improve the drying process as moisture content in the wood is at its lowest. Like lunar gardening, this method of wood cutting in rhythm with the moon has been documented for thousands of years from Pliny the Elder to Theophrastus.

By Andrew Davidson

In fact, back in 2003, a small research team in Zurich found that trees pulse in time with the tides and phases of the moon. When the moon is waxing, the trunk expands. When it wanes, the trunk constricts. This period where the wood is at its most constricted dries the fastest. And no one likes wet wood in the stove on a cold morning.

As we drove to our cutting spot, I felt the light flutter of butterflies in my stomach. Women are expected to shy away from such dangerous things. Yet our hands are just as capable, our minds just as sharp. And Evan was more than happy to hand the job over.

I remembered then that someone had thought me fearless once, so I again claimed it as my own. It is a façade that fits nicely when I need it, and can be tucked away easily when I’m through.

Slowly I learned the dance of the chainsaw: check the oil, check the gas, tighten the chain, hold the throttle, pull the cord, cut straight and true at the point in the tree with the least tension. We got into our usual rhythm, though with me at the saw and Evan at the wheelbarrow.

If you’ve watched a tree fall, you know the intermingled feelings of awe and dread that come with seeing something so huge crash to the ground. Yet felling a tree, sectioning it into pieces, splitting the logs with the sharpened steel of an axe will bring one into a space of limitlessness. The very physical act of providing heat in this way, a basic necessity to survival, brings one into the masculine.

It should be mentioned that there is a power in femininity too. During spring we harness that feminine energy and channel it into cultivating and germinating a garden. The work can still be back breaking and the rewards just as essential. But the raw potential we experience during fall is decidedly masculine. Maybe it is this element of danger that divides the feminine and masculine, not the work itself.

All I truly know is that being able to slide in and out of both of those states of masculine or feminine power can help us grow in so many different directions, to break boundaries and manifest desires.

We have more trips to the woods ahead of us before our wood stash will be full. What it really comes down to though is that this winter we will sit together and stoke our fire with wood that I cut and sip tea with herbs that I also grew. There is nothing Evan can do that I cannot, and I think that’s a relief for him too.

By Ram Dass

There is a fearless nature that is stoked by the chill urgency in the air. Let’s go see where it leads.

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A spell for the wood cutter’s moon:

Willow once told me

“you know your path

now follow it”

her branches weeping

with unsung stories

of the fearful.

So we go to the woods

with our axe and our saw

in honor of the trees who

no longer greet the spring.

We cut in awe of the

dead oak when he falls,

making the forest tremble

around him as he goes.

Take the heartwood

to the hearth.

Let it fill our homes with

warmth and comfort,

a reminder that

our fearless hands

will later nourish

our tender hearts.

Much love,

Val

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