HARVEST MOON

The Harvest Moon is the full moon nearest the autumnal equinox, which occurred here Sunday. Tomorrow evening, we'll see this yellow-orange orb floating near the horizon. The moon has fascinated mankind since time began, but is there anything so mesmerizing as the Harvest Moon? It appears bigger, brighter and more colorful than other full moons.

The brightness of the Harvest Moon is an illusion. Wikipedia gives an excellent explanation: "The yellow or golden or orangish or reddish color of the moon shortly after it rises is a physical effect, which stems from the fact that, when the moon is low in the sky, you are looking at it through a greater amount of atmosphere than when the moon is overhead. The atmosphere scatters the bluish component of white moonlight (which is really reflected sunlight) but allows the reddish component of the light to travel a straighter path to your eyes."

I hope I didn't destroy your romantic illusions about the Harvest Moon with this scientific explanation! This also happens to a lesser extent with the next full moon, The Hunter's Moon.

Our eyes actually do see the low-hanging Harvest Moon as being larger than ones that ride high in the sky. This is known as Moon Illusion. I'm not even going to begin to try to explain or understand this visual or optic illusion.

In addition to color and size, the Harvest Moon is special in another way. At this time of the year, it rises about the same time the sun sets, but more important, instead of rising its normal average of 50 minutes later each night, the moon seems to rise at nearly the same time each night. The extra light these evenings gives the farmers hurrying to finish their harvest added time to work their fields. Hence the name "Harvest Moon." In some years, the Harvest Moon occurs in October.

By the way, I misquoted the lyrics to "Shine On Harvest Moon" in an earlier post. Here is the song as it is supposed to be:

"SHINE ON HARVEST MOON"

(By Norah Bayes and Jack Norworth)

"Shine on, shine on Harvest Moon, up in the sky

I ain't had no lovin' since January, February, June or July.

Snow time ain't no time to stay outdoors and spoon,

So shine on, shine on Harvest Moon, for me and my gal."

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I wish I could take credit for these amazing photos, but I can't. I found them on the Internet. I think the last one was digitally enhanced.

200TH POST - FALL AND HALLOWEEN GIFTAWAY

There's a saying in North Dakota that if you don't like the weather, stick around a bit and it will change. Saturday it was in the high 80s. Yesterday it was 90 degrees. A cold front blew in last night and today I don't believe it even made it to 60, and there was a strong, cold wind. I have been resisting, but it's time to drag out my fall jacket.

However, this weather puts me in a mood for hearty meals, cozy afghans, sweaters and socks, cocooning, decorating for fall and giving things away. You may remember that I had promised to do a giftaway when I reached my 200th post, and this is it!



Put a comment on this post and you will be entered for a drawing to receive all of the things you see here. I had already given you a sneak peek of the fall fairy shown below. The photo above is of a squirrel holding acorn salt and pepper shakers. In the top photo, there are the following items: a kitchen towel with (not too) scary black cats, some hedgehog tissues, a Halloween bracelet with vintage scenes, and a ceramic leaf. There's also a "cinnamon bun" candle to be placed on the leaf, but I couldn't scan it so you will just have to imagine it.

I will keep this giftaway open for a week, and draw a name next Monday evening. Good luck to all!

THE FIRST DAY OF AUTUMN

By Elizabeth Stanhope Forbes

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Today was the first day of autumn in the United States. Although it is celebrated and shown on the calendar on dates ranging from September 20 through September 23, the date in a particular area is based on the actual astronomical event. The first day of fall, or Autumn Equinox. occurs when the sun crosses the equator on its journey southward. Due to the the fact that the earth wobbles on its axis slightly, the date may vary by a few days depending on the year. For us in the central time zone of the United States, it occurred at 4:51 a.m. today.

The first day of autumn is also known as Alban Elfed, Cornucopia, Feast of Avilon (Avalon, possibly?), Festival of Dionysus, Day of the Aspen, Harvest Home, Harvest Tide, Mabon, Night of the Hunter, Second Harvest Festival, Wine Harvest, the Feast of Ingathering and Witch's Thanksgiving.

It is, simply, the second day of each year in which the day and night are of equal length, the other day of course being the spring, or vernal, equinox in March.

It is called the The Feast of Dionysus or Wine Festival because this is the time when grapes are harvested from the arbors and put away to become wine. It is called Harvest Tide because this is the time of the great tides. (Living in landlocked North Dakota, I have no idea of this is correct or not.)

Mabon is the term used by some Wiccans and Neopagans, and it's one of their minor

holidays. The name may derive from Mabon ap Modron, a character from Welsh mythology. In Pastoral England, it was also the Second Harvest Festival (the first being Lammas.)

The full moon closest to the autumn equinox is known as The Harvest Moon, and farmers would harvest their crops by the light of the moon. I remember driving with my family from Crosby to Larson at night, the huge orange Harvest Moon low to the horizon. We all would sing, "Shine on, shine on Harvest Moon, up in the sky, keep on shining, January, February, June and July."

Interestingly, I learned that Mabon is not an authentic ancient festival. The name Mabon has only been applied very recently, the term being invented in the 1970s. Previously simply called the autumn equinox, the event was re-named to impart a more authentic-sounding "Celtic" feel, since all the other festivals either had names deriving from genuine tradition, or had had names given to them. The use of the name is much more prevalent in America, with many British Neopagans being dismissive of it "as an unauthentic name with not even a glimmer of connection to any seasonal lore."

Alban Elfed (Elved/Elvid) is the Celtic and Druidic name for this holiday, the counterpart to Alban Eiler (Spring Equinox), which I wrote about in a post in March. "At this time, our ancestors saw the Lady who is the Spirit of the Land stand before her people with the full bounty of her harvest. Here is the reward of labour and perseverance of the Land. This is the fulfilled promise of the days of spring and summer. This is The Reckoning of the Year, for Harvest is now complete and the portions are set to feed folk and animals through the cold dark days that lay ahead. This is a time of wonder and gratitude for the gifts the Lady showers down upon her people." In short, it is the original celebration of Thanksgiving.

As I mentioned before, one of the names for this celebration is Harvest Home. I read Thomas Tryon's delightfully creepy "Harvest Home" years ago. Fortunately, the website "The Witches' Inn" reassures us: "Despite the publicity generated by Thomas Tryon's novel, Harvest Home is the pleasantest of holidays. Admitted, it does involve the concept of sacrifice, but one that is symbolic only. The sacrifice is that of the spirit of vegetation, John Barleycorn.

This spirit - also known as the Spirit of the Fields and The Spirit of The Barley, was believed to reside most especially in the last sheaf or shock of barley harvested. The sheaf was dressed fine clothes, or woven into a wicker-like. man-shaped form (hence the term The Wicker Man). This effigy was then cut and carried away from the field and usually burned, among much rejoicing.

This annual mock sacrifice may have been the origin of the misconception - a rumor started by Julius Caesar when the Romans were messing about Britain - that Druids made human sacrifices. In fact, there is not one single eyewitness account of a human sacrifice performed by Druids in all of history.

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The next post will be my 200th post. Time for an autumnal/Halloween celebration. Make a comment on that post and you will be entered in my giftaway. It doesn't matter if you live outside the US. Please stop by and enter this celebration of one of my favorite times of year!

THE LAST DAY OF SUMMER

Yesterday, my book club friends and I celebrated the last day of summer by driving to Dickinson. What, you might ask, would entice us to travel 90 miles to this small North Dakota city with few attractions besides a very good dinosaur museum (southwestern North Dakota is excellent dinosaur fossil country).

One of our members moved to Dickinson some years ago, and we drive out every September to see her. The day always includes lunch at a local restaurant, some shopping, visiting with dessert and coffee at her home, and of course, discussing the book. Dickinson actually has several nice shops, including one called "The Village", which is far nicer than any home decor/gift shop in Bismarck.

It was a beautiful day, and I think the best part of it was the drive there and back. Although I followed the conversation of my fellow travelers, and joined in from time to time, for the most part I was content to gaze out the windows and note the subtleties in the scenery.

Hundreds of thousands of cars follow our route, it being Interstate Highway 94. I am sure that for most of those drivers, North Dakota is flat and boring. They put the pedal to metal, hurrying to see real scenery in Montana. But I - and my fellow passengers - found beauty in this warm turn-of-the-seasons day.

Many of trees have now changed color, just a week after I reported here in this blog that parts of trees but not entire trees had turned. A small stand of trees (yes, the prairie has trees) in a coulee was a mix of green, yellow and red, breathtaking when paired with a red barn in the background. The yellows, golds and light oranges of cottonwoods against gently rounded hills was our backdrop to the south. To the north were prairie potholes with deep indigo coloration at the centers and lighter blue at the shorelines.

The crops have been harvested, except for the sunflowers and the corn. I was amazed to see miniature sunflowers, and actually had to ask what "those yellow flowers" were. The corn is no longer green, but beige. One harvested field still bore the colors of its crops - strips of green alternating with tan. I am a North Dakota girl but I am not a farm girl. I can't tell wheat from barley even when they're ripe, and I can't ever recall seeing different crops planted in stripes across a field.

I remember thinking to myself that I would need to use a thesaurus to describe the various colors I saw. The prairie grasses had turned as well, and covered the gamut from rust to russet to brown, tawny, ochre, bronze, auburn, cinnamon, fawn. Were the leaves on those bushes in the ditches red, or were they vermilion, scarlet, maroon, or crimson? I settled on vermilion.

Did the drivers in the cars breaking the speed limit see the small herd of pronghorn antelope that we spotted? Did they notice the subtle difference in the hay bales? Bales in the fields are covered with plastic wrappers, while bales in the ditches are left bare.

Do the truckers rushing to deliver their loads note that there are many different kinds of buttes? There are ones with rock outcroppings on the top, little ones that look like miniature volcanoes, ones containing rosy red scoria, and the stair-stepped butte near New Salem whose bottom step is home to Salem Sue.

Salem Sue (or New Salem Sue), by the way, is the world's largest fiberglass Holstein cow. Located at New Salem, a little town 30 miles from Bismarck, Salem Sue is near the beginning of our trip. Near the end of the trip is a highway exit featuring "Geese in Flight", the world's largest scrap metal sculpture. "Geese" marks the turnoff for the 32-mile Enchanted Highway of metal sculptures - jumping deer, fish, Teddy Roosevelt, the Tin Family, grasshoppers, pheasants. It's a fun little side trip, if one has time.

Our group has always meant to take another side trip, to tour the beautiful Assumption Abbey at Richardton, and to visit the monks' bluebird trail. As it was, we didn't leave Dickinson until 6 p.m. By 7:30 p.m., we were nearing home, and long soft blue shadows began to cross the land. We didn't do it this time, but usually at this point one of us begins to sing "North Dakota" and the others join in: "You oughta go ta, North Dakota, see the cattle and the wheat, and the folks that can't be beat. You say hello ta, North Dakota, and you just can't say goodbye. The skies are bluer than blue, the sun is sunnier too, and if you don't believe it then there's only one thing to do (repeat from beginning)."

And as I arrived home I saw, peeking over my front fence, the last pink rose of summer.

THE MORE THINGS CHANGE, THE MORE THEY STAY THE SAME

There's no telling what a person will turn up when she sets out to organize drawers, files and boxes! This is a school picture of me at age 15, a sophomore in high school. I thought I'd print it here because I think it bears quite a resemblance to the photo on the top right side of my blog.

Oh, sure, I didn't have big bags under my eyes back then, I had only one chin, and I was a whole lot slimmer (skinny, actually), but I think the inner essence of "me-ness" is the same. For sure, I have come full circle to almost the same hairdo. There's not much a person can do with absolutely straight, fine, thick hair and a darned cowlick!

I still have the same facial expression too. People who don't like me would call it a smirk; people who like me (or myself) would call it an enigmatic, Mona Lisa smile.

I'd like to think that the 15-year old Julie is still inside this 58-year old. I'm still the avid reader, I still love to learn, I am still the unquenchable romantic. I still love the songs of the British Invasion. I still love nature, the country, dogs and family, birds and flowers.

The first time I saw the formal Sears portrait of my infant niece, Kelsey, the thought instantly came to my mind that "this is an old soul." There was just something in her eyes that told me so. And at 16 now, she is a wise young woman.

I think I am a young soul, still "trailing clouds of innocence", as Wordsworth said of children, but perhaps not so young as my soul at 15. I'm not so painfully shy, or so terribly sensitive. I have also definitely become tougher, though it may not show on the outside. I'm not a naive, inexperienced young thing anymore, but then what woman is? One certainly would not want to be arrested at that stage of development forever. I had not yet had my first kiss at age16, from Jim Peterson after a church group hayride.

People have debated from time immemorial about what the soul is, and where the soul resides. Where is my soul? I think it rather abides with me, rather than resides in me. One quote I read that has stayed with me for a long time is that we are not bodies with souls, we are souls that happen to have bodies.

Did I exist as a soul without a body before Julie was born? Will I go on as a soul when Julie's body is gone? I don't know. I don't know when the soul is born or dies; I'd like to think it never dies. But I do believe that my soul was with me in the beginning, and made - and makes - me what I am. My soul has created the expression on my face, the particular light in my eyes, the words I speak, the words I write, the thoughts I think. And I think I like my soul.

THE URGE TO CREATE

By Christine Mason Miller

"Being creative feeds a well that, as humans, we are all born with. To watch the level of abandonment with which children create and not recognize this deep need within ourselves is a bit like trying to stay cold in front of a roaring fire. We can't help but want to create. We are human, after all."

The collage above is by one of my favorite artists. How fitting that I should find a piece of her work that speaks to creativity, not long after I posted about giving up my fears regarding creating art. (By the way, you can see more of her work at http://www.christinemasonmiller.com.)

I have one little criticism directed at her use of the word abandonment. I think she meant children create with a level of abandon. (Though creating art helps abandoned children therapeutically, I don't think that's what she meant.)

I want to thank all of you for leaving such encouraging and thoughtful comments and emails. I can't begin to tell you how much I appreciate it. You have really lit a spark for me and I hope it grows into a lively, snapping, warming fire.

Here's another bit of serendipity: I bought the magazine Mary Englebreit's Home Companion yesterday and found a painting of hers with the phrase shown below. I do agree. No matter what level of skill we are at, we are all gifted and we cannot neglect or suppress it.

NEGLECT NOT

THE GIFT THAT IS IN THEE.

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P. S. It is going to take a while for me to launch my new blog. I want to create a banner instead of having the "prefab" banner that's on this blog. Since I don't know HOW to create a banner, this may take some time, especially since I want something that is my own creation, not a photo that I have lifted from some source. I mean, it's going to be an ART blog so how can use someone else's art? Also, I completely forgot to mention this will also be a POETRY blog as well as an art blog. Plus, I've made some bits of jewelry that I want to show, and I WILL - dammit - create that "Spirit Doll" I have been planning for weeks in my mind.

CELTIC MAIDEN

Okay, so I lied in my previous post. Here's one more. But actually,

I think of this not as a piece of art but a visual journal entry.

(Click on picture to read writing)

NO FEAR!

SACRED JOURNEYS by Julie Fredericksen

(*One lesson I learned - don't use so much Mod Podge!)

I promise you I am not going to barrage you with a whole bunch of my collages - not in this blog, at least.

I am using this collage of mine - which happens to be the cover of a spiral bound journal/notebook, to tell you that I am no longer going to be afraid. Somewhere recently (in a blog, I think), I read this question: "What are you afraid of?" I am afraid to create, and I am afraid to share the results of my creativity.

But I have a burning need to create, and I have more than enough materials at hand to do so. I mean, I have all the paints, ribbons, markers, crayons, colored pencils, stamps, papers, embellishments, findings, magazine clippings, etc. that one woman could want. Mostly, they sit unused in boxes or in drawers.

I have read books on journaling, collage, book making and writing poetry. Now it's time to stop being afraid and get to work. I had a good start when I took my visual journaling class, but that ended in early April. Since then, I've hardly opened the door to Kristen's old room, which has become my office/work area.

Creating art is something that I WANT to do; something that I enjoy doing once I begin. But there's this inner critic, this subversive, nasty voice, that usually prevents me from even getting started. It censors me. It dampens my flame.

How did I get to be that way? I think I, like most people, think that if I can't draw, I can't create art. Also, one summer during my college years, my stepfather saw me pasting some magazine pictures into a scrapbook. He was very scornful about my "childish" activities. He was forever putting me down, killing my spirit and sucking my soul.

However, I have come to believe that playing with papers and scissors is good for your soul, no matter what age you are. I have put this quote into another collage of mine (sorry I don't know the source): "I've talked to a lot of women my age, and they say it all goes back to cutting out paper dolls. When women are together and they cut out or color in, I notice an almost-going-back to childhood feel in the atmosphere of the room, and it's an escape. That's what's magical and delightful - it's almost a return to something in your childhood."

I vow, from now on I am not going to be so fearful any more. And I am also going to push the envelope beyond what I have already done. All of my "art" so far is pretty. I can't seem to help it. I want it to be less pretty, less structured, more spontaneous. I want it to have texture and depth. It is too glossy, too planted in reality. I need to push my boundaries further and further.

I need to grow and stretch. I need to "think outside the box." I need to go beyond the cliches and be truly creative.

I think that the more I explore with my toys, the more free my expressions will become. I need to break out of the conventional traps that I find myself in, and find my real self.

I am 58 years old, and if I am going to do it, I have to do it now. There will be a lot of trial and error, a real learning curve.*

To that end, look for my announcement of a new blog coming soon.

MY SACRED LIFE: THE RIVER

(This photo is REALLY cool when enlarged. Just click on it.

You'll even see the birds on the sandbar!)

What is this place, emerging out of the mists? Is it is the enchanted Isle of Avalon, home of the priestesses of the ancient goddess? Is it Brigadoon, the Scottish town which is visible only one day every one hundred years? No, it's Bismarck! But today it appeared enchanted.

When I left home this morning the sky was morning-glory blue. As I drove west, I couldn't believe my eyes. Was that fog I saw a few blocks ahead? Indeed it was. By the time I reached the river's edge, I was enveloped in fog. Emerging from the mists which shrouded them were the construction crane for the new bridge and the beautiful lacy ironwork of the old bridge. (The photo above shows yet another bridge - to the south of the one I drive across every day).

As soon as we got to the Mandan side of the river, the fog was gone, instantly! When I reached my office a few minutes later, I looked out my second-floor window toward the river. A dark grey ribbon of fog followed the river's course. Fifteen minutes later, and the fog had turned pure white, but still clearly delineated the river's path. By 9:00, the spectacle was gone.

In recent days, the Missouri has looked so serene and calm as I cross it. It's hard to believe that underneath its surface it is shifting sandbars, eroding banks, and moving hundreds of thousand of gallons of water in its quest to meet the Mississippi River and eventually drain into the Gulf of Mexico.

A mighty dam holds back the river at Garrison, about 50 miles north of Bismarck. We folks upstream, the Montanas and Dakotans, want the river levels to be high here. When they are down, recreation suffers, and our states need the recreation revenue. (And our residents deserve to enjoy their lakes and rivers.) The U. S. Corps of Engineers has a different idea for this river. They have lowered the water level here so that it will be high down south, for barge traffic.

I am not going to get into this argument at the moment. And the Mighty Mo, in the long run, doesn't care. It just keeps on a-rollin' toward the sea, and it will do so long after we are gone. But today it showed me part of my sacred life.

A FAERIE MAGICKAL DAY

Waiting for me when I got home from a long, dreary Monday at work was a package from Australia. I had won Robyn of "Tales From Inglewood's" Faerie Magick giftaway a couple of weeks ago and never expected the package to arrive so soon. It certainly instilled a lot of faerie magick into my day.

In case you can't read the (sideways) note on the package, Ms. Robyn wrote: "When I was little, my nan would buy me Honey Jumbles and I would sit under the ancient willow tree, eating them while I chatted to the faeries." I immediately had to open the bag and taste this treat that entices faeries. They are delicious - sort of like a soft ginger cookie with either pink or white frosting. I have already eaten several.

Since it is a beautiful warm day, I will take them out to my patio and eat them under my own magic tree, a huge American elm.

The package also included the faerie stones, the greeting card and the faerie card you see here, plus a little bottle of faerie candies and a cardboard pouch with a teeny, tiny pink ring just the right size for a faerie. I am going to leave it out on my computer and see if anyone spirits it away to her faerie den.

Everything was wrapped up in purple tissue paper with a hot pink ribbon. It was the most fun thing I've gotten in the mail in a long time. (Since I got my package from Carmen, tee hee.) Thank you, Robyn, for the magick.

There are only eight more posts until my 200th post, when I will be having a fall giftaway. Please add your name to the post on that day to enter. Even if you live Down Under, you can still enter and enjoy the fall gifts six months from now.