Gaia's
GardenEven those of us on an Earth centered path can use a little help now and then in caring for our Mother. This column is dedicated to making us more aware of the "footprints" we leave on Her and how to live more harmoniously with Her even if we're urban pagans.
Grandfather's Moon
The moon at this time of year always reminds me of my maternal grandfather. As an old fashioned sort of farmer, he lived his life by the phases and types of moon year round. The harvest moons were very special to him in that it meant he could start to wind down a bit after working very hard all spring, summer and fall.
I think his way of living with the land and within the Universe was my first intimations of paganism. Even other farmers in the area thought him a bit strange in some of his ways. On his acreage, the animals carried names and were treated with kindness and dignity. He kept his draft horses long after the advent of the tractor. His cows were never bred for veal or simply to put them back into milk. He felt that if the bull didn't do the job, there must be a reason. He was the first person I ever knew who talked to plants, long before it became fashionable. He, not my grandmother, grew the flower garden, "for beauty and the fairies", as well as vegetables for the table and for sale. He "kept" bees on an old rowboat. In actuality, it was a wild hive that he would sing a special song to them when he went out to get honeycomb for the breakfast table. He never wore protective gear or used smoke either. I regret that I was too young to learn the song before he died.
One of my most vivid memories of him is the time I came out into the barnyard during the harvest moon. He was talking to Henry, the hog of that year. He was petting him, telling him what a great pig he was and how nice it had been to know him, but that the time had come and we needed ham, bacon etc. for the winter. Cradling Henry's head, he drew a knife across his throat and Henry slumped to the ground without a sound. Grandfather looked up, saw me and encouraged me to come say good-bye to Henry and told me that Henry had returned to the stars and would be a part of our lives always. As anyone who has every been near a hog slaughter can tell you, they are usually noisy events and it usually takes more than one man to do the job. I believe that my grandfather's honoring of the pig's contribution both in life and in death had something to do with how Henry accepted his own sacrifice.
Grandfather taught me many things in the short 10 years I had him in my life. To honor the earth and it's inhabitants equally. To listen to trees, rocks and rivers. To love the land and growing things. And above all that I am a part of the Universe and cannot behave as if I can exist apart from it. Thank you again, Grandpa.
Kara Shima
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