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The glossy, dark-green leaves seemed to glow in the afternoon sun. They were large, deeply veined—in fact, perfect. My friend, Karen, shook her head in amazement. “My spinach doesn’t look anything like this. This is, like, super spinach! What did you do?”
“I used a mix of potting soil, sand, and compost,” I offered.
“I did that, too.”
“Full sun.”
“Me, too.”
I hesitated, then said, “I planted in the first quarter moon under Scorpio.”
Karen blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“I planted the seed in the waxing moon under the sign of Scorpio.”
The conversation lagged after that. Whenever I admit to planting by moon phase and zodiac position, people generally assume a tight-lipped, isn’t-that-nice smile, check their watch, and bolt for the garden gate. I don’t know why. Lunar gardening isn‘t some New Age notion. Farmers all over the world have practiced it—successfully—for thousands of years.
Today many people still garden with their eyes on the sky. The most common practice is “moon planting.” When the moon begins to grow darker each night, as if sinking into the ground, plant underground crops like potatoes and carrots. When it begins to get brighter, plant vegetables that bear fruit aboveground.
True lunar gardening, though combines the moon’s phase within the zodiac to determine the best times for gardening chores. The Old Farmer’s Almanac, first published in 1792, provides all the information you need.
My leap to lunar gardening was purely an accident. I was two months late starting my vegetable garden and willing to try anything that might insure some harvest, however small. I decided to try moon planting. I watched the night sky and planted corn, bush beans, and cucumbers during the waxing moon. To my delight, within five days, bright green sprouts pushed through the soil. Encouraged, I sowed carrots and radishes under the waning moon. Only a few scraggly sprouts appeared. What happened?
I bought The Old Farmer’s Almanac. The daily zodiac listing showed that I’d sown my root crops under Aries, a barren sign. Worse, I’d done so during the barren fourth quarter. Was this the problem? During the next favorable phase and sign, I planted another batch using the same seed envelope. A thick crop of seedlings showed up within ten days. That was all the incentive I needed.
Lunar gardening sounds crazy to most people, but I’m sold on it. It’s so easy. All you need is an almanac, a little curiosity, and an open mind. Besides, I like the idea of following a tradition that’s lasted for thousands of years. I figure I’m using the most thoroughly tested garden calendar in history. So if someone asks about my garden, I tell the truth about what I’m doing, then wait for the indulgent smile and hurried exit. Sometimes, they surprise me. Before Karen left that day, she took another long look at my perfectly perky spinach and asked, “Where can I get hold of a Farmer’s Almanac?”
Behold, another lunatic—that is, lunar—gardener is born.
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