THE SKY ABOVE
The moon has been waning all week, shrinking down toward nothing.
By Saturday, May 16, she's gone. New moon arrives — and this one is a Super New Moon, the first of two in 2026, meaning the moon is sitting closer to Earth than usual. You won't see her. That's the point.
Dark skies and a new moon mean the Milky Way core will shine at its brightest Saturday night. Get away from town. Get somewhere without a parking lot light humming overhead. Let your eyes adjust for twenty minutes. Then look up.
The old people called it the Backbone of the Night.
They weren't wrong.
In the predawn sky this week, keep an eye east before sunrise — Saturn and Mars are rising together on the morning horizon, with Saturn being the easier catch. They look close. They're not. One's roughly 800 million miles away. The other's closer to 150 million, give or take. Out here in the mountains, we call that a short drive.
Jupiter is still hanging in the evening sky, but these first ten days of May are your last real chance to get a good look at it before it drops too low after dark. Don't sleep on Jupiter. She doesn't come back around until you've forgotten you missed her.
Lucky number for the week: 16. New moon. New start. Something closes, something opens.
THE GROUND BELOW
The moon going dark this week is not bad news for the garden.
It's actually exactly what the old-timers were waiting for.
Plant above-ground crops when the moon is waxing — getting bigger. Plant root crops when it's waning. This week, with the moon draining down toward new, you're in root territory. Potatoes. Turnips. Beets. Get them in the ground before Saturday.
One piece of advice that's been passed down for generations: don't plant potatoes in the head sign. Too many eyes, not enough potato. Plan accordingly.
Corn does best planted at the full moon. That was two weeks ago. If you missed it, you'll have another shot at the end of the month when that Blue Moon rolls in. Mark it.
Cut your firewood this week while the moon is in the old — it'll dry faster and burn better come November. Same goes for fence posts. Posts set during the old of the moon stay tight. Nobody ever explained exactly why. Nobody ever had to. n
One more thing the almanac won't tell you but your grandmother would: don't transplant anything on a Sunday. Barren day. The ground knows.
WHAT THE WOODS ARE TELLING YOU
May is not subtle.
The redbuds have already said their piece and gone home. Now it's the dogwoods finishing up, the tulip poplars throwing open for business, and every creek bank in the holler running thick with green.
Pay attention this week. The mountains are talking.
THE RAMP FAREWELL
Late April and early May is the best window for ramps. By now, the tree canopy is starting to close overhead, and when that happens, ramps start to disappear — leaves dying back, season done. National Forest Foundation
If you've still got some in the icebox, use them. By next week they'll be a memory.
And yes. Your breath will be an event. Plan accordingly.
LUCKY MEAL OF THE WEEK
Morel mushrooms fried in a cast iron skillet.
Butter, not oil. Salt while they're still hot. Eat them standing over the stove before they cool down, because if you wait for the table you've already wasted about thirty seconds of perfection.
If you've got a mess of ramps left, throw them in the pan first. Let them soften. Then add the morels.
That right there is a meal that costs nothing but your boots getting muddy.
MOTHER'S DAY: SUNDAY, MAY 10
May 10 is Mother's Day.
You know what to do.
If you're reading this newsletter instead of calling her right now, fix that.
ARMED FORCES DAY: SATURDAY, MAY 16
May 16 is Armed Forces Day, honoring those currently serving in all branches of the military.
Not to be confused with Veterans Day or Memorial Day. This one is for the people doing the job right now.
Appalachia has always sent more than its share.
Always will.
OLD SAYING OF THE WEEK
"A dry May and a leaking June makes the farmer whistle a merry tune."
Translation: skip the rain this month, pour it on next month, and the crops will be just fine.
Whether that holds for your garden or not, it beats worrying about it.
The Appalachian Almanac runs weekly in The Wayne Train. Forward it to somebody who still plants by the signs.