Last night there was a big, gorgeous full moon known as the Hare Moon. There are myths and stories about the rabbit and the moon in the Far East and in Native American cultures. If you look at the moon, you may see the image of a rabbit on the surface. In almost all of the stories, the rabbit sacrifices her life for another being and her reward is to appear on the moon for all to see. Because of this noble deed, the rabbit was magically returned to earth to proliferate.

The Hare or Rabbit Moon is the April moon, the spring moon. It reminds me that my childhood world was filled with the sensations of enchantment. On spring mornings, Dad would come in from the barn with news that there were new kittens in the hayloft. We could go and find them! The barn housed prized Aberdeen Angus in box stalls, plus four milk cows. In order to get to the hayloft, we had to squeeze in front of the cows being milked to open the wooden hayloft door. There were amazing things to smell and see on the way up the stairs, such as the relics of leather collars worn years ago by a team of horses, and
an old saddle. Fragrant stalks of loose hay littered the stairs. Dad followed us to make sure we would be gentle with the kittens, watching as we searched around the hay bales for their nest. Of course, by the next day, the mother cat had moved her kittens and the merry hunt was on to find them.

Another rite of spring was a trip to Green’s Feed Store in Goldens Bridge, New York. There I first saw fluff-balls of yellow baby chicks and ducks. I wanted to have one. Mom and Dad could not be convinced that I needed a new pet. I had heard that baby chicks were incubated with warmth. One day, I snuck into the kitchen, took a dozen eggs out of the refrigerator, and wrapped them in wool scarves. Then, I climbed on a chair and buried, what I thought was all that was needed, at the top of the hall closet near the living room where guests’ coats were hung. Sadly, they never hatched.

Luckily, my mother was not that upset when she found the rotten eggs weeks later. New life for me as a child was always something hidden, something mysterious, something magical. I delighted in the surprise of spring flowers. Yellow daffodils and a red tulip sprang up every year near the white picket fence. Jack in the Pulpits popped up near the brook that flowed through our front yard. I believed there was a spirit that lived inside each one. How I loved the patch of Lily of the Valley that grew under the pine trees. Their perfume charmed me, and their little bells were just the right size for fairies.

Recently, the eight-year-old in my life announced to her mother, “Mom, I know there is no Easter Bunny.” She then asked, “Is it ok I tell Aunt Jane?” A day or so later she visited. She looked at me, and then she looked away. I guessed something big was on her mind. In a quiet voice, she confessed, “There is no Easter Bunny.”

Well, I have always believed in the Easter Bunny, so I was taken by surprise. On Easter mornings I knew there would be a basket, a chocolate rabbit, jellybeans and vibrant colored eggs to find. I was convinced the Easter Bunny emerged from a rabbit hole somewhere in one of the fields in the back of our house, or maybe in
the woods up Hunt Lane, the dirt road we lived on. My brother and I spent hours exploring the territory in the quest for the Easter Bunny’s hole. I don’t know what we planned to do if we discovered such an entryway.

Under the light of this Hare Moon, what I want to say to the eight-year-old is what I want to remind myself, and all of us. Magic is just as genuine as material things we can touch and taste. What is hidden, what cannot be seen with our eyes, is real. Sometimes we need to see with our hearts. The revealing of what exists in secret is the spirit of spring. May we always be excited by the enchantment of the pursuit, seeking the entrance to the realm of the imaginal.

This article is cross posted from Jane Knox’s blog The Ageless Goddess