I think I’ve always been a pagan at heart—I just didn’t have the words for it until much later.
Being the youngest of eight, with a sixteen-year gap between me and my oldest sister, and six to the next in line, I grew up sort of sideways—on my own, figuring things out as I went. Flying solo. With no one around my age to follow, I made my own path. And of course, with a curious spirit like mine, that path always led straight into the wild.
I spent hours outside, deep in the woods behind our farmhouse, wandering without fear or hesitation. Back then, there was no such thing as danger or claustrophobia. Just open sky, whispering trees, and the steady hum of the forest breathing all around me. I belonged to it completely—nature’s wild child, barefoot and wide-eyed, collecting moss and stories in equal measure.
My dad was the biggest influence in shaping that bond with nature. He’d take me into the forest and teach me about the plants, calling them by name like old friends—what healed, what nourished, what to steer clear of. We'd harvest fiddleheads in the spring, nibble on spruce tips, gather wild garlic, wintergreen, stinging nettles, even dig chicory roots to toast for tea or coffee. Mushrooms were a whole other adventure—one we dove into with delight and caution.
It wasn’t a lesson—it was a legacy. The forest wasn’t just a place to play. It was sacred. Alive. And I learned to listen to it with reverence.
Before life got complicated, before the world cracked open and spilled the hard stuff in, my childhood felt like something lifted from a novel. And maybe that’s why my novel is so deeply rooted in those early memories—because they’re still the truest parts of me.
But no matter where I was or what I was learning, one thing always held me steady. The moon.
I was born under a waxing crescent, and my dad used to tell me that made sense— I was born under a storybook moon. We’d go for walks together, just the two of us, and no matter where we were in the province, he’d always point it out: Look up. There she is. And I’d smile, every time. I was fascinated. Enchanted. I couldn’t fall asleep without singing to her. Wherever I was, I’d find her, hum a little tune, and feel safe. Like she was watching over me.
That connection never faded. If anything, it’s only grown stronger.
Now I understand what it was—what it is. No question. This biking journey I just completed solidified that truth in my bones. I move in time with the Wheel of the Year. I honour the earth and the natural cycles. I speak to the moon like an old friend. I don’t claim Wicca or Druidism fully, though I respect and resonate with both. For me, paganism isn’t a religion. It’s simply… how I live. How I move through the world. And at the heart of it all, always, is the moon.
I’ve taken so many photos of her—full, new, hidden, bright. She’s followed me through every version of myself. Maiden, mother, crone. Joy, heartbreak, uncertainty, rebirth. Every phase I’ve gone through has been mirrored in her sky. Even when I couldn’t see her, I knew she was there. That quiet companion, watching from above.
This recent biking journey—every detour, every ache, every unexpected change in plan—transformed me. It reminded me of who I am at my core. And now, on the edge of yet another transformation, with my hip replacement just days away, I find myself standing still for a moment. Reflecting. Breathing. Listening.
Tomorrow is the Buck Full Moon.
This moon, named for the season when male deer begin to grow their antlers, is all about strength, renewal, and stepping into the next version of yourself. It’s not about leaving the past behind—it’s about building on it. And I feel that so deeply right now. I’m not discarding who I’ve been. I honour her. All of her. Every wound, every lesson, every mile pedaled and heartbreak faced has brought me here.
But now… I am growing.
Like the buck, I am rising into something stronger. I’m growing new antlers—spiritual ones. Intuitive ones. Sharper, more defined, more me than ever before.
And here’s what gives me chills: this Buck Moon is also the farthest full moon from the sun in all of 2025.
There’s something magical in that. Because lately, I’ve felt that distance too. Like I’ve been walking the outer rim of something divine, orbiting just far enough away to feel the cold. And now? I feel the shift. I am moving closer again. Closer to the warmth. Closer to truth. Closer to home.
I’m not afraid anymore to be who I’ve always been. The barefoot girl in the woods. The one who sings to the moon. The one who feels too much and speaks in symbols and weeps quietly when beauty brushes her soul. She’s not just a memory. She’s alive. And she’s guiding me forward.
So as the Buck Moon rises, I honour her. I honour myself. And I honour you, if you’ve felt that same stirring—that same need to remember who you really are.
Because maybe, just maybe…
You’re growing your antlers too.