The Harvest Moon is full today at 11:47pm my time. Moonrise is at 5:55 tonight, preceding fullness by less than six hours and sunset by about twenty minutes, eliminating the time of darkness between sunlight and moonlight. This is the Harvest Moon because it is closest to the autumn equinox, and geometry at this time of year means that moonrise seems to stall. Rather than rising about an hour later each night as is true further from the equinoxes, moonrise is only about twenty minutes later each night. Tomorrow night, moonrise will be only five minutes after sunset. Wednesday will see about thirty minutes of darkness between sunset and moonrise.
This timing led to many stories of workers being able to continue harvest work into the evening under bright moonlight for several nights around this full moon closest to the equinox, thereby making it the Harvest Moon. I’m not sure those aren’t pure Victorian fantasies. The light of the full moon is bright in the countryside, no mistake, but probably not bright enough for harvest work, where dozens of young men are swinging razor-sharp scythes at the stalks. It might have made it manageable to work right up to sunset and then walk home in the relative safety of bright moonlight, but I doubt work continued on into the twilight.
Apart from the obvious hazards of using scythes in the darkness, folklore also tends to refute the idea of using moonlight to get in a few more hours of work. There are just too many myths that feature gruesome endings for anyone foolish enough to be laboring under the moonlight. There are even several, from geographically and linguistically distanced cultures, that refer specifically to harvest laborers. As the sunlight faded, they were increasingly likely to meet some spirit of the land. Some of these pale ladies would give the young men a fighting chance, setting them to solve [mostly unsolvable] riddles or to complete [mostly impossible] tasks before devouring them… But most of the stories were pretty much over as soon as the men met the White Lady in any of her guises. These are not comforting tales…
Of course, swinging sharpened blades in the dark can have the same disemboweling effects as meeting a vicious nature spirit… So there may be a grain of truth in these ancient harvest myths. Those out at night simply ran a rather high risk of coming to harm…
But then there is also the fact that, while harvest work did carry on for gruelingly long hours, because days are gruelingly long in the growing season, no medieval worker would have spent evenings at work. Evenings were for collecting the day’s wages and gathering at the alehouse. They didn’t have our enlightened modern “work ethic”, the compulsion to keep going at any cost — because they didn’t have as many costs for wage-hours to pay and because they didn’t center work in their lives. Evenings were for living, not laboring for their masters. Truly, most of the time was for living. They spent less than half a year laboring. And you can bet that a bunch of young medieval guys, like any group of young guys, would be throwing down the tools at the earliest opportunity…
Also do I need to repeat… the harvest, except of field corn, a very recently introduced grain, should be well over long before the autumn equinox. Many higher latitude places are already seeing frost by this time of year, though that was probably not true in the Medieval Warm Period. Still, if these guys were laboring under the Harvest Moon, then the harvest was not going well… And vicious land spirits got nothing on winter starvation.
In any case, there are these Victorian fantasies of being abroad in the moonlight, and so traditions have developed. One of my favorite is the corn maze, in which a labyrinth of meandering paths are carved into a field of corn and brave souls try to navigate their way through the tangle — without thinking too much about Children of the Corn. But another delight is simply to find a flat east-facing horizon — or, in Vermont, a high east-facing vantage point — and watch the moonrise.
For many reasons, from the angle between sun and moon to the increased winds and dying plant life loading the atmosphere with gunk, the Harvest Moon looks golden when it rises. This year it will be golden and huge. With the moon at perigree, closest to the Earth, this is the first of the three supermoons for 2025. This is, in fact, the closest and hugest of the supermoons. I think you might even be able to perceive that it is super without having another full moon close by for comparison.
With atmospheric lensing and perspective illusions when the moon’s disk is low, the moon looks biggest right at moonrise. As that first golden arc rises above the horizon it will be enormous. So, go out and moon-gaze. It’s the best time of the year for it.
This full moon is not only closest to the autumn equinox, but it is the full moon preceding All Hallow’s. So it has a bit of Hallowe’en patina. There is a tradition, sometimes practiced around the harvest, sometimes around Hallowe’en, sometimes even at Yuletide, of holding a Dumb Supper. The household would prepare a feast, often working in silence the whole day. Then they would sit down to eat in total silence. Places would be set for the dead, heaped with all their favorite foods. The living would eat these foods, taking extra delight in the flavors and textures so that the dead might once again, through their living loved ones, be able to savor the feast.
Dumb Suppers are still held in many places. In these days of artificially brightened nights, the meals are held by candlelight and moonlight. Silence and low light seem to draw out the poison of unrelieved grief, making it possible to simply be with those who are gone. It is a moving experience, even when you don’t entirely believe that the dead are physically present.
I do like the Irish version though. Preparing the supper, eating it, cleaning up… all are done in absolute silence. But then, the family gathers round the hearth for storytelling and music to entertain the living and the dead. Stories tend to focus on the events of recent times, to catch the deceased up with the news of the living. Births and weddings of the last year, unusual weather, showers of good fortune — these are all described in great detail so that the dead can live those experiences to whatever extant possible. This gathering can go on all night, much like a wake, and, also like a wake, involves spirits of all kinds. However, this custom is not especially tied to All Hallow’s. It is a New Year tradition and usually happens on the longest nights of the year.
I wrote a bit of poetic microfiction about a Dumb Supper, not quite the Irish variant… no speech, but the communion does carry on all night. There is a twist though…
I offer it here for the Full Moon Tale of the Harvest Moon…
they came just before the rains. the tribe would soon be passing on to the grasslands. before their journey, tradition demanded this tribute to their dead, though in truth many would come on their own to the graveyard, whatever the season, to mourn private memories. but this annual formal gathering was for the whole tribe together.
they each carried what they could, foods to share with their dead, fruits and greens and the special favorite tidbits of their lost loved ones. as the sun set fire to the rocky hills, they filed one by one into the boneyard and lay down their burdens in a growing mound. the little ones, normally so boisterous, walked behind their mothers in wide-eyed awe. even the youngest knew in their own bones that this was a time for silence, no need for remonstrance.
when the circle was closed and the darkness complete, the matriarch drew their attention with the ritual gesture, for there would be no speech this night.
solemnly, she approached the mound and carefully selected what the elder sisters knew was the favorite of her mother, the gentle beauty who had quietly cared for the entire tribe for so many seasons. the matriarch broke the fruit in half, then she turned and walked from the circle, coming to a stop by a jumble of bleached bones that were gleaming in the soft light of the gibbous moon.
she carefully laid half the fruit on the bones, pausing briefly to caress the staring skull. then she ate the other half of the fruit, mindfully savoring the flavor for both herself and her dead mother.
the others then approached the pile and selected food for themselves and their departed mothers, aunts, sisters, friends. they moved through the graves, communing with now this dear spirit, now that. those youngsters who had been orphaned in infancy were brought to the bones of their dead mothers. those who came to the tribe in adulthood, found their lovers. and though there was great grief, no voice broke the silence as the mounded feast steadily diminished.
when the last delectable morsel was consumed, they each went to those most dear to their hearts to stand vigil for the remainder of the night, sending their spirits to travel with the dead, the youngsters curled in sleep at their mothers’ feet.
too soon the eastern horizon was washed in pale gold. the ritual was coming to a close. they began to stir themselves, drawing their spirits back into their bodies, rousing awareness, feeling the morning air on their skin, breathing in the scents of dawn flowers, blinking in the rising light.
it was time.
the matriarch raised her trunk and, one by one, they all processed out of the elephant graveyard, ready to move on to the rainy season grasslands… though, in truth, they never completely left this place. each carried their dead in their hearts.
©Elizabeth Anker 2025
By My Solitary Hearth 