The Daily: 12 January 2024

---

The third moon in my lunar year, the Wolf Moon, is new today. It is new between 28 December and 25 January; it’s full between 11 January and 8 February. This is the coldest time of year in the North. It is when stores of food are running low and hunger is stalking every home. This inhospitable month is also the breeding season for wolves. They are calling to each other in the lovesick long nights of deep winter. I was born under the Wolf Moon. I hear the calls of coy-wolves in the night and feel the warmth of belonging. 

In the time of the Wolf Moon, the nights are still long, but usually the lengthening of daylight is perceptible. This subtle shift was once marked by an odd English Candlemas custom. On the morning of 2 February, the steward of a large estate would give a candle to the manor lord, symbolizing the declining need for artificial light during the morning chores. 

Why do I call this the Wolf Moon? Well, it’s not just me. This is the one of only a few traditional full moon names found in both European-derived cultures and in many of the cultures of Indigenous North America. I suppose, northern humans have always seen the wolf at the door at this time of year because it is cold, dark and nothing is growing. There is no food except what small game you can hunt. And there are equally hungry hunters who might be hunting you in the long darkness. I’m not sure I believe that wolves regularly attacked human settlements, but it’s probably a healthy caution if you’re going out in the woods at night. At any rate, the hungry canids may well be carrying off your livestock, your own food stores — because a penned animal is very easy prey, like food on a stick to a hungry wolf. Hard to turn down when your belly is grumbling.

But another reason this time of year is associated with wolves has to do with their breeding cycle. Wolves have but one breeding season — late winter. Our ancestors heard wolves howling at the moon at this time of year not because those wolves were coming for them — though that made a good metaphor for the hunger that was stalking humans and wolves alike — but because those wolves were singing love songs to potential mates. I tend to think our ancestors knew about wolf breeding cycles. They were keenly observant of their world. And, as evidenced through widespread adoption of the wolf as clan totem, many of them felt deep kinship with wolves and would thus have been extra aware of these fascinating beasts.

These days, anthropology gives us new evidence of our close relationship with wolves. It is very likely that wolves and hominids learned from each other. Of course, we worked together to hunt, though it may be more that humans scavenged off wolf kills under the protection of pack benevolence. But it also seems like canines may have taught our species the benefits of cooperation and care, the rules of pack life, the advantage of orienting ourselves around the family and the home. We say that we domesticated the dog, but it may be more accurate to say that wolves domesticated humans.

I sometimes think dogs are the shepherds the wolf clan set on the infantile human species and that they diligently watch over us still — protecting us even from ourselves. Perhaps especially from ourselves…

The season of Midwinter gave way to the season of Imbolg on Plough Monday this week. Plough Monday can fall anywhere between the 7th and the 13th, and this 6-day period of time often feels like a big shift in weather. The first week of January is almost always Midwinter cold (whatever that means these days). The middle of January, however, frequently sees a thaw and can feel like a false spring at higher latitudes. Some traditions insist on taking down all the winter holiday greens and decorations on Epiphany. However, if you celebrate Twelfth Night on the 5th and are among those who give gifts on the 6th, then you probably don’t want to pack away the décor before that. So Plough Monday is a good target for the change, the full stop on Midwinter, the time when routine returns.

I don’t follow the calendar so much as my gut. There always comes a day, usually just after Epiphany, in which I suddenly feel tired of looking at Midwinter and want a change to a cooler palette. The season of Imbolg is a festival of lights in my house. The white holiday lights stay out and there are candles in abundance. I pull out pillow covers and table runners in lighter and airier whites, blues, and pale washes of color. These colors feel both like winter and new beginnings to me. It’s like having a home space filled with hopeful whispers. It’s not spring yet, but it’s coming.

However, the world outside is cold and dark. Yes, the days are lengthening, but the cold is getting worse. There may be snow. There is often wind. It’s not pretty. There are birds on the feeder though. The cardinals are starting on summer planning, so the bright red males are ostentatiously parading around the garden, staking claims. Most of the furred beasties are asleep or hiding. But there are skunk tracks in the snow most mornings, and the raccoons are nightly visitors to the compost bin.

The Imbolg holidays are Saint Brigid’s Eve (31 January), Imbolg or the Feast of Saint Brigid (1 February) and Candlemas (the Feast of the Purification of the Virgin, Groundhog Day, 2 February). My grandmother was born on January 31st, so I feel a special connection to this traditional women’s rite. Imbolg is usually a day of quiet contemplation followed by a meal featuring the traditional dairy products my ancestors depended upon at this time of year. I particularly love potato-leek soup made with rich yogurt and warm bread slathered with fresh made farmer cheese. Candlemas is, I confess, usually an afterthought. I have no particular attachment to divination, being of an intentionally “what will come, will come” nature. I do note the weather, but I do that every day. I usually watch Bill Murray learn life lessons from a large rodent in the delightful movie Groundhog Day.

---

©Elizabeth Anker 2024