Snowshoe, hopefully not broken
The Annishnabe (Ojibway) of this Lake Superior region call the April moon “Broken Snowshoe Moon”. I’m imagining this is because Winter is in fast retreat, or slow retreat, and the natives look at their worn snowshoes and think, “wow, these need to be fixed before next winter”.
I could be wrong, but it seems like a good time to look at our snowshoes and skis and determine what needs to be repaired before the next heavy snows settle upon the land.
The natives of North America called this moon of April by many names, depending on their locales. Here’s a handful: Sugar-Maker Moon, When They Set Indian Corn, Moon of the Big Leaves (obviously not around here), Ice Breaking in the River, Frog Moon, Flower Moon, Moon when the Geese Lay Eggs. You can study them for yourselves at http://www.americanindian.net/moons.html
If I named this month’s moon it might be: Mud Moon, Moon of Spring Dreams, Moon of Melting Lakes, Snow Melting Moon, Moon of Pussywillows, Moon of the First Green. Just think! All around the country and world, we’re sitting under the same full moon, but our conditions and weather patterns and details are all different.
Our April moon, isn't she beautiful?
I have no idea how to take a stunning photo of the moon. What you see is what you get. She’s overhead about 9 p.m. these days, a little to the south and east. Out the bathroom window. Here’s my plan tonight. I am going outside a little after dark (9- 9:30 p.m.) and confer with the moon. We’re going to have a little pow wow. Discuss things. Get serious. I suppose, get thankful about life.
So today’s outdoor adventure will be AFTER the publication of this blog. You guys must simply have faith that the outdoor commitment will happen. (It’s happened already, really, when Barry and I sipped drinks on the deck in the 40 degree weather this afternoon. I was wrapped in a blanket donned with hat and jacket on our lawn chair. One of enjoyed a hot bouillon cube and the other a glass of wine, but I’m not telling who enjoyed what. When the sun shone through the clouds, it felt actually pleasant.)
Because it’s impossible to photograph the full moon in its shining glory, the maple trees decided to offer an imitation of the April moon.
How did the moon get in that maple tree?
I’m happy to think we’re all sitting beneath the same moon. For all our differences, for all the ways we call things different names and tell different stories…we still sit under the same April moon. Maybe that knowing can bring us closer together as people. It’s all the same moon… (And maybe I’ll tell this same story, except for different names, every full moon for the rest of this year!)
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April 10, 2009 at 7:45 am
Cindy Lou
You sure got some miles out of those snowshoes this year, hey? I love the names of the months that our Native American friends use – they’re way more descriptive of nature around us! Your moon shot is cool – both of them!
April 11, 2009 at 6:48 am
centria
Thanks, Cindy! Yep, the snowshoes saw more miles THIS year than ever before. Nothing like Bishop Baraga though! Isn’t the name “Moon of the Broken Snowshoe” way more descriptive of our way of life than, say, the word “April”?
April 12, 2009 at 8:49 am
flandrumhill
The Mi’kmaq in my neck of the woods call this the ‘egg laying moon.’
I love the image of the moon on the maple tree. Why can’t we just be satisfied with these images? Although I use a camera, I still find the technical aspect of them an interference to the creative process.
My snowshoes haven’t had much use since I moved away from Northern Ontario many many moons ago. Nevertheless I’d find it very difficult to part with them.
Earlier this year I read my grandson a beautiful picture book about the many native moons. I think I got it from the library more for me than him.
A lovely series about the moon Kathy. Thanks
April 13, 2009 at 6:31 am
centria
The Egg Laying Moon. Exquisite! It was sooooo much fun to write this moon series, Amy. And you’re so right about being satisfied with what we get. Why are we longing for something different, something more traditional perhaps, when maybe what we got was the perfect thing after all. Your grandson is so lucky to have a grandma reading him books like the native moons.