Cold moon garden

Snowflakes descend all day and cloak the earth in wintry white. December snowfall brings quiet to the landscape. A slight suspension of time itself seems to occur, as natural shapes are softly sculpted and erased with crystals.

Garden chores are complete and beds are allowed to sleep. Indoor activity centers in front of the hearth. Traditionally, its fire is symbolic of sunlight that is protected, until its forceful return after the winter solstice. This is the month to rekindle bonds, sharing stories with family and friends, and preparing and exchanging gifts. When the land is fallow, studying quilt making and mending are taken up. I’m interested in learning more about native edibles and plant lore.

Our house will be decorated with holly and pine. Red-berried wreaths placed on our doors recall the crown of the mythical Holly King. At winter solstice, he loses his battle with the Oak King, who reigns again until Litha, the summer solstice in June. Today, we see a remnant of the Holly King in Santa Claus. The battle culminates in the burning of the Yule log. A section of holy apple, and later of oak, was used to keep the light burning through the longest night of the year.

The story of Cinderella is also woven around the hearth, and renewal of the light. As altar of the house, heart of the home and garden, it must be kept spotless. Hearth contains the word “earth,” and represents garden forces nurtured across time, before the calendar starts again. Cinderella, the orphaned ash-fool, remains faithful to her mother’s memory, and her (earth) mother’s heat. She learns patience and triumph by focusing on sorting lentils and peas her stepmother cruelly tosses among the ashes. In Latin, the hearth fire is “focus.” Empowered by the spirit of the garden (her fairy godmother), Cinderella sheds her filthy rags, and is transformed into a princess, or figure of light. She becomes the white goddess of myth, animated with adornments of the garden’s paradise.

Sorting this year’s seeds, and ordering next season’s, gives me focus. Platefuls of beautifully patterned heirloom beans are dried and saved for seed exchange, cooking, and the garden. I want to grow yard-long Red Noodle beans, a sweet prolific Asian climber. I’m eyeing a couple of winter squashes. Lakota is a native seven-pound pear-shaped fruit, speckled green and orange. Jarrandale is a 10-pounder from Australia. It’s ribbed, blue-gray and has sweet orange flesh. I’ll try a spreading American hazelnut bush.

Our ancestors made much use of garden fragrances, of necessity. Cotton “sweet bags” of lavender and other herbs were placed in drawers and cabinets, imparting a fresh smell to linen and clothing. Delightful potpourris were developed to cover smells of dampness in earlier homes. These consisted of flower petals (particularly rose), spices and oils to extend the perfume’s longevity. Sweet woodruff was a favorite strewing herb for the floor, and kept the house sweet smelling when crushed underfoot. Herb pillows to aid sleep and dreaming were made with hops and rue.

In the peaceful lull of December may our garden hopes be refreshed.

“Bring the light to wake the seed.

Let the shoot from earth be freed.”

- Will Conway