Why I’m Naming the Full Moons Myself

And the Name for Today's August Moon Is

When I was a kid, the images of holidays in the media never looked like my actual lived experience. Christmas, for example. Most Christmas cards show a winter scene where the snow is deep, twinkling with glitter. In the south of Georgia, Christmas never looked like that. Never.

You’d never see a card with a black family gathered around a tree.

I’m so fascinated by the way entire groups of people get left out of a collective story. The dominant image of Christmas is New England, straight up—not the desert southwest, not the jungles of the south, not the Hawaiian islands, not the inner city.

This is why I love our current movement of inclusion so much. We’re seeing more of the actual lived experience of more actual living people.

Today is the full moon in August. Y’all know that over the millenia full moons have been named, and the name usually connotes something happening during that moonth, especially if it involves food. I’ve been noticing that many of these names for full moons actually do not fit where I live. Deep Snow Moon, for example, is not happening here.

The August Moon has been called

• Corn Moon

• Sturgeon Moon

• Grain Moon

• Lightning Moon

Corn Moon fits, because some people where I live in the deep south do have corn ripening this late. In terms of Sturgeon, I could go drift in a boat at the coast for hours and probably catch an Atlantic Sturgeon this time of year (and then promptly get arrested, since it’s a federally listed endangered species.) Lightning? With summer thunderstorms, we have plenty of that.

I can make all those phenologies apply.

However.

I’ve decided that I’m going to rename the full moons so that they directly apply to my place; my life; and my loving, reciprocal, and ancestral relationship with this land.

Right now the bitterweed is growing heedlessly in the pastures. August, for now, is Bitterweed Moon.¹

Bitterweed is Helenium amarum, named by Linnaeus for Helen of Troy. It sprang up where her bitter tears fell. (“Amarum” means bitter.) If cows eat it—and they will if they get desperate—it imparts its bitterness to their milk.

The books say that it’s toxic to humans—of course the books say that. The books say a lot of things that have been disproven, so I’m going to have to see some real studies on that. For example, the books say that Amanita muscaria mushrooms are poisonous. Turns out, there’s an easy way to process them, and they’ve been used by humans for thousands of years. (I’m kinda mad about all the dominant-paradigm assumptions that get re-pasted into book after book, and I’m mad at myself for all the times I’ve thoughtlessly done it.)

I chewed on bitterweed recently. Lordy, it’s bitter. If you need to make bitters for good digestion, there’s your plant.

When the bitterweed blooms in our pastures (there are good years and bad years for it) it stirs some ancient memory in me, and I think of heather on the moors of Scotland. I feel when the helenium is blooming that I am deeply home.

(More about heather in a minute.)

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Two New Words I Found While Writing This

Anemoia—a nostalgic sense of longing for a past you yourself have never lived.

Fernwah—from the German, translated as “farsickness,” wanderlust or a yearning for distant places.

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A Bitterweed Recipe for Brave Hearts

For a few years I’ve owned a copy of Sacred and Herbal Healing Beers by Stephen Harrod Buhner², the guy whose herbal protocol for Lyme finally healed me (after 6 months of IV antibiotics.) (He says you have a different relationship with plants after one saves your life.) Amazon describes the book as “the first comprehensive book ever written on the sacred aspects of indigenous, historical, psychotropic, and herbal healing beers of the world.” There are 120 recipes.

I’ve been meaning to make one, just start with one. So I was looking out at that field of bitterweed.

(There’s a recipe in the book for Bracken Fern Ale. Toxic to horses. Another for Wormwood Ale. Toxic to worms, apparently.)

You should know at this moment in the story that the July full moon is also called Wort Moon or Wyrt Moon. In beer making, wort is the liquid that comes from the mashing process, meaning the extract of grain, herbs, hops, and so forth.

Now, back to heather. For 4,000 years a beer wort has been extracted from heather. As Buhner writes, “Heather belongs to the Ericaceae family. Interestingly, many of the plants in this family have been traditionally used in ales, and a number of them are known for their psychotropic or highly inebriating effects.”

When I read that, nothing could stop me. In the old country, heather. In the new country, bitterweed.

I skipped all the recipes and went to Buhner’s generic directions, starting with a one-gallon bottle³. I used yarrow flowers, bitterweed, fennel seed, anise seed, and juniper seed. I boiled water, added the herbs, added sugars, strained it, and let it cool.

It was evening when I mixed in a packet of brewing yeast, stuck an airlock in the gallon jar, and went to bed. The next morning the jug was practically galloping across the counter. It was huffing and puffing, off-gassing almost more quickly than the bubbles could escape. I was sufficiently impressed.

A few days later I tasted for the first time my sacred, healing, ancestral, psychotropic, highly inebriating, and possibly toxic beer. The overtones: bitter. The undertones: bitter. I drank maybe a tablespoon at first, in case the books were right about bitterweed. I lived. The next time I drank ¼ cup and lived again. Then ½ cup.

I’ve gotta tell you that I have not had any visions or trips. Sadly. Not yet.

The white horse, Apache, grazes among the bitter tears.

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Engage the World with Language: A Writing Prompt

What will you name the August full moon in your place? And why?

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Please share your writing if you’re willing. You may drop it into your social media feeds and tag me or use the hashtags #writingwithjanisse #writingthetracklesswild.

I thought you might enjoy this snapshot of me running with the big guys. When I started, nature writing had been dominated by men. This is Peter Matthiessen and Richard “Nels” Nelson. I think we were on Sanibel Island.

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Upcoming…

workshops

If you have published a book and want to double your book sales, join me for a 3-hour intensive on becoming your own publicist, called How to Market Your Book Skyward. Every published (and unpublished) writer should take this class, because it comes with an e-book that lays everything out, plain as day.

For women, here’s a sacred and safe container for you to tell the most powerful story of your life, one you don’t usually get to talk about, the story of you giving birth to a baby human, Write Your Birth Story. Get the story out of the deep tissues of your body and onto the page. Gift it to your child.

I’m teaching a 12-week class in the fall on Monday evenings from 7-9 starting Oct. 10 on The Magical Craft of Creative Nonfiction. Move from stuck to joy and contentment, because you’re finally doing what you know you’re supposed to do (and what is tremendously difficult to do.) Let the invisibles help you. I’m giving you everything I know about writing.

changes

Y’all know that I was wrestling with my path for the past couple of years. I talked about that in a newsletter back in February. From that heartfelt and even anguished letter to you, the response I received was a bounty of encouragement and wisdom. Mostly I wept my way through all your comments.

My poet friend Chris LaTray said, “Your work matters now more than ever. Your work, your love for the world, your ability to share it ... it is a gift. The vast majority of people making decisions about what ‘deserves’ to be published are terrified into stupidity. We don't need them. We do need you.”

My old nature pal Brooks Wade, who runs Jocassee Lake Tours, sent this: “The question I wrestle with now is what is essential. What matters. In a world being overwhelmed with impending doom, how do I proceed with some element of joy, if not relevance? The shedding of that which is unessential is what I think characterizes best this point in my life. In the company of birds my spirit frees itself of gloom and fills with wonder and joy. I hope by this end of this year I have turned over our work to younger folks, and then I intend to live for family and birds. Entirely selfish, admittedly, but so be it. I intend to be found outside, is some wild place, watching birds as each day begins. And finally, and in summary, for the question I have wrestled with since being a reasonably aware adult: How to be happy on a dying planet. The question that continues to haunt and steer my life.”

How to be happy on a dying planet.

How to find joy.

How our work matters now more than ever.

About a month ago something switched inside me, as if I went to bed one person and woke up another. I’m not giving up. I am becoming even more of a beacon of light, as Mary Oliver advises. I am getting radically visible. If what I’ve been given in this life, in this body, and in this soul can be of any service to you or any creature or being on earth, then I am at your service.

events

Aug. 28 | Ashantilly Center, 3 pm, Darien, GA, register here

Aug. 31 | Rotary Club, 11:30, Fernandina Beach, FL

Aug. 31 | Story & Song Bookstore, 4 pm, Fernandina Beach, FL

Sept. 3 | Write Your Birth Story, 8-11 am, Online workshop, register here

Sept. 11 |   "Arts at the Confluence" Conversation on the Arts, Environment, and Activism, First Congregational Church of Atlanta, with Margaret Renkl & Billy Renkl, organized by Pearl McHaney & Jane Thorpe, 2 pm, Atlanta, GA, register here

Sept. 29 | How to Market Your Book Skyward, Webinar, register here

Oct. 10 | The Magical Craft of Creative Nonfiction, Mondays 7-9, register here

Oct. 19 |  Cherokee Garden Library Ashley Wright McIntyre Lecture Series, Atlanta History Center, Atlanta, GA, register here

Nov. 15 |  Literary Guild of St. Simons, organized by Cary Knapp, 10 am, St. Simons Island, GA, register here

Nov. 17 | Georgia Museum of Art, Athens, GA details forthcoming

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Currently

Reading: Underworld by Robert MacFarlane, at last, thanks to my friend Kimberly Coburn, who sent it to me as a gift

Listening to: Amber Magnolia Hill’s podcast “Medicine Stories”

Worring about: Roe v Wade

Enjoying: The photography of Flor Garduno, born 1957 in Mexico. I don’t dare post one of her photos because of copyright issues, so you’ll have to seek out her work.

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Looking for Creative Intern

My last creative intern, the fabulous Kaley Whittle, graduated from Georgia Southern and went off to Boston with Americorps. So I am looking for a creative intern, Sept 22 throughMay 23. The work is virtual. The pay is $150/month for 2.5 hours a week, although it’s not a per-hour job. It’s very much a side-hustle. You need to be good with social media & graphic design. You do not have to be in college to apply, although this will look fine on your resume & I write a hella-good letter of recommendation when you need one. If you’re interested, send me your resume at wildfire1491@yahoo.com.

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News If You Get This Far

I have a new book coming out! That’s all I’ll say. You’ll be hearing about it soon.

Last thing: The swallow-tailed and Mississippi kites have been gathering over southern fields before they begin their migration back to South America. James Holland took this amazing photo a few years ago. I’ve been watching them feeding on June bugs in the fields near my home.

1. I also considered Butterfly Pea Moon, Goldenrod Moon, Swallowtail Kite Gathering Moon, and Muscadine Moon.

2. If you’re going to buy Stephen’s book, go to the man himself. I ordered mine through his website and he signed my copy! And Jeff Bezos doesn’t need your money. When it arrives, go ahead and put it in your will. Just write on the frontispiece, “Upon my death, this book should go to my (friend, nephew, daughter, neighbor), ________.” Because somebody, years from now, will want to know how The Ancient Ones made alcohol.

3. These directions are found in Appendix 1.