“Look at that moon. Potato weather for sure.”
Mrs. Gibb― Thornton Wilder, Our Town
Tonight is super moon night –the full moon combined with the annual closest approach to the earth and it did not disappoint. The orb was orange and optically oversized on the horizon, looking ever so much like a search light trained over the landscape, creating moon shadows and moon worshippers everywhere. The moon was made for hankerings of all kinds and in my case, I’m hankering for a new crop of potatoes. I’ve cooked up the last dug up 7 months ago.
The garden is ready for the spuds, just newly rotatilled with worm-happy compost. The dirt feels fluffy in the hand, and the air is still cool on the face. Between a full moon waning and brisk spring weather, it is time to plant potatoes, eyes up, anxious to sprout through to the surface and reach for the sky and the moon.
I have no idea what the moon has to do with potato planting. I only know that back when people paid close to attention to such things, it mattered when they planted. Maybe the search light moonbeams brought those sprouts out of the ground just a little faster, with due haste and God speed. Maybe the accelerando tidal pull of a close super moon brings
us all a little nearer to the surface: to grow, to flourish, to howl moonward from the safety of the evanescent shadows that vanish, dissolved by the sun, at daybreak.
They danced by the light of the moon,
They danced by the light of the moon.
Edward Lear–The Owl and the PussyCat