🌕 Harvesting by Moonlight

Night-Bloomers & Mystical Plants of California

🌿 Intro

When the coastal breeze cools and moonlight spills over your garden, a quieter world awakens. In the hush of summer nights, fragrant plants stretch open, their oils peaking, their spirits humming. To harvest under the moon is to practice presence and patience—to gather medicine in stillness.

🌸 Moonlight Harvest Ritual

You’ll need:

  • A candle
  • A basket or cloth
  • Your chosen night-blooming plant (jasmine, mugwort, white sage)

To do:

  1. On a full moon or waxing moon night, bring your tools into the garden.
  2. Light a candle at the garden’s edge as a signal of intention.
  3. Pause and listen—feel the silence, the soil.
  4. Harvest 3–5 sprigs using clean hands or clippers.
  5. As you cut, whisper gratitude or speak the plant’s name.
  6. Tie into bundles and hang to dry in a breezy space.
  7. Write in your garden journal: “Tonight, I gathered not just leaves, but light.”

🌕 Closing

Moonlight harvesting isn’t about yield—it’s about attunement. Every snip is a thank-you. Every breath in the night air is a reminder that the garden lives in cycles, just like you.


🌾 Lineage in the Soil

Chumash, Tongva & Southeast Asian Summer Crops

🌱 Intro

Every garden is grown on a story. In California, your hands tend soil touched by many before you—Chumash, Tongva, Ohlone. And for many immigrant families, that same soil became a landing place. When you plant your lineage and the land’s history side by side, you’re not just growing vegetables—you’re growing belonging.

🤍 Ancestral Bed Ritual

You’ll need:

  • One garden bed or container
  • A stone or marker
  • Plants like Thai basil, rau ram, lemongrass, amaranth, mung bean, miner’s lettuce

To do:

  1. Choose a section of your garden as a heritage plot.
  2. Plant crops from your family’s traditions alongside California natives.
  3. Write the names (yours + the land’s) on a rock.
  4. Bury or display the rock in the bed.
  5. When watering, speak the names aloud.
  6. Harvest and share the meal. Tell the story of where it came from.

🌿 Closing

Growing with intention heals something we can’t always name. This isn’t just about food—it’s a quiet act of reclamation and respect. The garden listens. So do your ancestors.


🌊 Morning Dew Offerings

A Spirit Bowl for the Garden

🌤️ Intro

Before the first cup of tea. Before the to-do list begins. Step barefoot into your garden, and meet the morning. The dew still clings to petals. The air is soft with silence. This is when your offerings are heard the clearest.

🌺 Spirit Bowl Ritual

You’ll need:

  • A shallow bowl
  • Water (rain, spring, or clean tap)
  • One garden flower
  • A leaf or herb from your plot
  • Pinch of sea salt

To do:

  1. Fill the bowl with water and place it in a garden corner or altar.
  2. Add the flower, herb, and salt.
  3. Place your hands over the bowl. Whisper a wish or a word for the day.
  4. Let the bowl stay until sunset.
  5. Pour it into the soil or onto a plant to complete the offering.

🌞 Closing

Offerings aren’t just for spirits—they’re for you, too. They slow you down. They make space for wonder. This small act of reverence becomes a rhythm, and the rhythm becomes ritual.


🔥 Tend & Release

Chop-and-Drop as a Ritual of Letting Go

🌻 Intro

Summer is bountiful—but also overwhelming. When plants bolt or flowers fade, it’s tempting to toss them out and move on. But in regenerative gardening, we give everything back. What’s cut is dropped. What’s finished is transformed. This is chop-and-drop—and it’s also a practice for emotional composting.

🍂 Chop & Drop Ritual

You’ll need:

  • Pruners or scissors
  • Spent plants (wilted herbs, bolted lettuce, dried flowers)
  • A watering can

To do:

  1. Go into your garden and gather what’s past its peak.
  2. As you cut, name what you’re also ready to let go of (burnout, expectations, fear).
  3. Chop the plants into pieces and drop them right where they grew.
  4. Water the area slowly.
  5. Pause. Thank the plants for what they gave—and what they’re still becoming.

🌿 Closing

Letting go isn’t loss—it’s part of the loop. Your garden is always becoming something new. So are you. The things you drop today may feed the blooms of next season.