The Wolf Moon

Happy New Year Bloggers! Apologies for the long silence – the month-long high from Siberia forestalled all garden activity at Bertie’s Cottage superfluous to the most basic survival. Apart from strewing fleece, too late I fear, over some of the more tender plants (the six-inch high broad beans look utterly miserable, and I still need to discover if the Mexican agave has made it through -6°c), I only intervened in the garden by watering evergreen plants in pots and six large box bushes that I’d moved in the autumn, hoping slightly warm water would warm their roots enough to give them a drink.

But yesterday at last, south-westerlies blew in a gale of slate-coloured clouds to wipe away the crystalline blue and thaw the frost. Soil began to soften its icy grip round trunks and roots, the goose bath melted to much honking and delight, and along with what felt like the whole natural world, I heaved a huge sigh of relief – it may be wet and windy, but at least it’s sufficiently warm for much of life to resume.

And what about yesterday’s full moon? It’s the ‘Wolf Moon’ according to Medieval tradition, an appropriate label I reckon, as the time is just beginning when wild predators are driven by hunger to prowl into the farmyard. I suppose I should be glad it’s only foxes and badgers that threaten us here, but the recent cold, clear, still nights make it all too easy to imagine packs of wolves stretching up their throats in unison, to howl desolation to the uncaring moon.

And after a month of drought, Saturday and Sunday nights both brought some showers. Can it be a coincidence that once again the full moon was accompanied by rain? According to biodynamics, the moon’s influence works through the element of water, and at this most powerful phase in the waxing-waning cycle, plentiful moisture is essential – certainly, according to my observation over the past year or so, it has consistently rained around the time of full moon. (Not hard in Devon, might I hear you comment?!)