By Dr Joe Kearney
Photo of moon by Padraig Comerford
She was referring to the extra light in the sky as we move from winter solstice towards spring brightness. She could feel that stirring in the air, something very faint and very subtle but nonetheless tangible. She knew the clockwork belly of the Earth was shifting, gathering its breath, somewhat like the movement of a timepiece as it prepares to strike the hour. The creep is gradual but she was tuned to it.
When I think about her now, she might rightly be described as a wise woman. Minimally educated, yet she observed the world about her with great curiosity, marveled at its complexity and thus came to a heightened understanding of nature. Anyone who has observed the arrogant strut of a cockerel in a hen run will know the length of a cock step and equate it to the glide of evening light as measured by my grandmother. She read the weather by assaying the smoke from her chimney. High pressure signaled by straight emissions and low pressure when the same smoke fell to the ground. Rain on the way if there were caps of cloud on distant Slievenaman, and thus no point in hanging sheets on the line. She was also an observer of the moon and its cycles. I marvelled at how she would suggest seed sowing in conjunction with its phases.
This is a time of year when I like to sit and contemplate seed catalogues with a view to a new season of vegetable growing. Having experienced poor cropping and indeed complete failures in recent times, I believe I should try my grandmother’s belief in seed sowing under the influence of a full moon.
Proponents of my grandmother’s theory suggest that, just as the moon’s gravitational pull influences the tides, it also has an effect on soil moisture, pulling it toward the surface. Some seeds perform better when they’re exposed to light, so planting during the full moon could, perhaps, enhance the process.
Certain phases of the moon are considered conducive to planting. moon-based planting guides suggest sowing seeds for crops that yield an above ground harvest when the moon is waxing. Root crops, on the other hand, are best sown during the waning moon.
My grandmother studied the calendar of the moon and its cycles in the pages of Old Moore’s Almanac. Throughout the seasons she made sure the book was close to hand and I recall how dogeared and tea-stained it became as the months progressed. She bought a fresh copy each year from a street trader in our town. Moll Daly liked to perch on the window ledge of the post office in the main street and sold, amongst other items, issues of the green covered almanac. It was not unusual for pedlars to sell copies of the book. Back then many considered that it brought good luck to the purchaser.
The almanac was devised and published by a teacher of classics and mathematics called Theophilus Moore in Dublin in 1764. It gave detail of tides and moons and was considered invaluable to both farmers and fishermen. It also made predictions of important and disastrous happenings. For example, it might foretell of wars, the death of Popes, calamitous weather events, horoscopes and, remarkable as it might sound, some of these prophesies came to pass. The almanac is on sale right up to present times.
Moll and my grandmother had a few things in common, both were considered accurate soothsayers, and in the way my grandmother might augur rain, Moll was also gifted with a form of prophesy. Her husband, known as ‘The Ducker’ had developed a sideline amusement during fair days. He would crouch inside a wooden barrel. Moll sold, to willing spectators, rubber balls which they would throw at the Ducker whenever he popped his head out of the barrel. The Ducker was a survivor of the Great War and a rubber ball represented little danger in comparison to bombardment in the trenches.
Still, many suspected that his escapes occurred as a result of a pre-arranged series of Moll’s coughs. These may have helped the above-barrel appearances less damaging to his health.
My copy of the 2025 almanac predicts that a, so-called, Worm Moon will occur in March. It is known as such because warming soil temperature entices earth worms to become active. The Wolf Moon of January or the Snow Moon of February might be a little too early for my seed sowing and perhaps the Pink Moon of April too late for purpose. But, occurring as it does, after the March equinox and many cock steps into the year, the full Worm Moon of March might be a signal to get dirt under my fingernails for yet another growing season.
This article was first heard on RTE’S Sunday Miscellany on February 16 2025 and is reproduced here with the permission of the author and Sunday Miscellany.
Joseph Kearney is originally a Callan native and a regular voice on RTE’s Sunday Miscellany where he features in their latest anthology. He is a multi-award winning documentary maker and holds a PhD in creative writing from UCD.
