Guide for reflective planting

On the evening of October 4, the Moon will be nearly full, her rounded light gathering in the skies above Washington. At this moment she enters Pisces, the dreamer of the zodiac, and swells in her Waxing Gibbous phase. Two nights later, she will rise as a Harvest Supermoon, brighter and closer than usual, her body enormous on the horizon. But on this evening she lingers just shy of fullness—an image of expectancy, a breath drawn in before release.

If you stand at the edge of the Stillaguamish estuary, you’ll see her reflection shimmer across the tide flats, wavering in the water’s slow rhythm. At Padilla Bay, the light carries across eelgrass beds, dancing with each small wave. Even a walk through the Snohomish River valley fields at dusk brings her presence close: the scent of wet soil rising, barns silhouetted against the silvered sky.

Pisces is a sign of water, dreams, and intuition. When the Moon swims through these waters, she asks us to soften, to pause and listen to what surfaces in the quiet. The Waxing Gibbous, almost full but not quite, reminds us that ripening is a process—that what we sense now is still forming, still becoming. Can you feel it? That pulse of anticipation in the garden and in yourself, as if the world is on the cusp of revelation?

Moon Phases and Gardening Associations

Before diving into gardening practices, let's briefly review the moon phases and their associations:

New Moon: A time for new beginnings, setting intentions, and planting seeds for growth and transformation in the garden.
First Quarter: Energy increases, making it ideal for planting above-ground crops, fertilizing, and nurturing young plants.
Full Moon: Represents culmination and abundance. It's a time for harvesting, pruning, and celebrating the fruits of your labor.
Last Quarter: A period for reflection, releasing, and preparing the garden for the next cycle. It's a time to weed, clear debris, and focus on soil health.

In addition to these phases, there are transitional periods:

Waxing: Building momentum, ideal for planting and encouraging growth.
Waning: A time for reflection, rest, and letting go of what no longer serves.

Plant Allies for the October Moon

This month, two companions meet us at the edge of water and dream: Iris sibirica (Siberian Iris) and Coriandrum sativum (Coriander/Cilantro).

Picture a stand of Siberian Iris beside Nookachamps Creek, their slender leaves sharp against the damp air, their blossoms recalling the arc of a rainbow. Irises are mythic messengers, bridges between earth and sky. In a Pisces moon garden, they remind us of intuition, vision, and the possibility that dreams might be given form. In the Pacific Northwest, Irises thrive in moist soils, echoing the watery nature of Pisces itself.

Coriander, or Cilantro, carries a more practical but equally lunar magic. Now is the perfect time in Washington to sow cilantro seed; the cool season encourages steady growth, and with luck it will overwinter to offer fresh leaves when little else is green. By spring, it bolts to seed, gifting spice for harvest feasts ahead. This plant’s duality—leaf and seed, green and dry—mirrors the Waxing Gibbous: a phase between, embodying more than one truth at once.

Together, Iris and Coriander weave a story of watery intuition and tangible nourishment—an invitation to dream deeply while keeping hands in the soil.

A Simple Practice for October Nights

On International Observe the Moon Night (October 4), consider carrying a small handful of coriander seed and a single iris leaf—fresh or dried—into the night. Stand where you can watch the Moon rise: perhaps along the Skagit River in Mount Vernon or from a hilltop above Snohomish looking east to the Cascades.

Breathe in the damp air, listen for the faint trickle of water or the rustle of wind in poplars. As the Moon lifts above the horizon, plant the seed into soil or into a pot, whispering one dream you want to tend through the darker season. Hold the iris leaf to the light, then let it rest on the ground as an offering to the cycles that carry us all.

The Harvest Moon and Festivals of Light

By October 6, the Harvest Supermoon rises, spilling her brilliance over Skagit farmlands, illuminating bare tulip fields and pumpkin patches alike. At Ebey Slough near Everett, her reflection stretches in silver bands across the tidal water, a path of light that seems to lead into mystery.

Across the Pacific, families will celebrate the Mid-Autumn Festival (Tết Trung Thu). Lanterns will glow in the night, mooncakes will be shared, and gratitude for abundance will be spoken. The timing feels universal—whether in Hanoi or in Snohomish, humans gather under this full moon to mark the harvest and to honor cycles of plenty.

Later in the month, as October wanes and Samhain approaches on the 31st, the turning of the year is felt more deeply. The Celtic day began and ended at sunset, so Samhain begins in darkness: a threshold time when the veil between worlds is thought to thin. Reflecting in your moon garden at this time, you might ask: What have I gathered from this season that I want to carry forward? What is ready to be laid down, like fallen leaves enriching the soil?

How Eco-Restore Can Help

At Eco-Restore, we see gardens as more than collections of plants. They are places of rhythm and ceremony, reflections of the wider sky and soil. If you are inspired to create a moon garden—choosing flowers that honor the phases of the Moon, herbs that carry meaning through the seasons, or quiet corners for reflection—we can help you design and plant a space that grounds your intentions.

Our work draws on the landscapes of Skagit and Snohomish, weaving local ecology with personal vision. Whether it’s integrating moisture-loving Irises along a rain garden, or establishing cool-season herbs like Coriander for harvests to come, we help shape gardens that are abundant, resilient, and meaningful.

Closing Reflection

As October deepens, the Moon teaches us to honor both fullness and the journey toward it. Under Pisces, we are invited to trust our inner waters. In the Waxing Gibbous, we learn to dwell in expectancy without rushing. And in the Harvest Moon, we are reminded to gather gratitude for what has come to fruition.

So I ask you: What dream is ripening in you now, shimmering just beneath the surface, waiting for the moment to shine?

On the Edge of Fullness