Blame It On The Moon

The first time I heard the expression "Harvest Moon," I was in college. Some friends and I had driven out to a romantic cliff, where it appeared Noah's flood had carved out a canyon that meandered across the countryside. The blood-tinged, full moon rose out of the woods, coloring everything with a mysterious orange glow. It was so huge, I felt I could touch it. Someone who was with us mentioned that it was a harvest moon. I had seen such orbs before in my life, but didn't know there was a name for it. We gaped at the magnificence of it, until it waned orange, then saffron, then butter, to cream. No one wanted to move under its spell. So we didn't, until the night got nippy and we remembered that tomorrow was still going to happen.

I saw such a moon this weekend. We planned a trip up to see our new grandbaby, because although I had seen him twice, Papa had not been able to get up there yet. I worked too hard this week, starting by Wednesday to feel oddly fatigued and hot. I didn't pay attention until we were almost to Helen on Friday evening. My face was flushed, I had no energy and all my joints were aching. But that moon. We pulled up to our son's home and there it hung, not as much orange as rich yellow. The grands came out with us and stared at it. How come it's so big, Yaya? I don't know, and in a little while it went back to normal size. Magical moon, built for little kids and people who are looking for hope. Steady moon, decades and millennia of circling, soothing beams. 

Speaking of harvest, the next day we went to a small-town parade. It consisted of about 50 tractors of every conceivable size and make, as many horses, mule-driven carriages and wagons, four-wheelers, golf carts, proud cowboys and lots of thrown candy. Not a Corvette in sight. They circled up and back several times to the childrens' delight. The boots and jeans testified of the reality of their work. It was refreshing to see a glimpse of where we came from, still being proudly displayed. There was enough barbecue and sweet tea to feed a small nation. Welcome to Georgia.

Our trip was cut short. I was in a bad way come mid-day and all I wanted to do was curl up in a fetal position and die. We made our way home. I cried when it hit me that I was missing those babies and that our hours and hours of driving, renting a hotel, and sweating it out at the parade had yielded precious little time with our loved ones. I was inconsolable until our son called me and blessed me with his words. 

Tonight I am starting to mend. I went out to walk the dog and looked for the moon, the harvest moon. But it was hidden behind thick clouds. There's been an oil spill, so getting gasoline for our vehicles this week may be a challenge. That led me to a mixture of thoughts as I waited to see if the clouds would part. That sky has been there, well, forever. We've had gasoline-fueled cars for only the last minute of mankind's reign on the earth. Somehow people have made it without all of our modern inventions and conveniences. Even now, many people on this planet don't rely on electricity or gasoline and the moon keeps showing up for them, too. Maybe this week, I'll just lay low, clean my house, actually cook supper and look at the moon every single night. Maybe my body will heal too. I'll blame it on the gasoline.