The Sturgeon Moon

Where the name comes from

The name Sturgeon Moon comes to us through the Old Farmer's Almanac, which drew on full moon names used by Algonquian-speaking peoples of the Great Lakes region and later adopted by colonial settlers. August was the month when giant lake sturgeon, ancient fish that can live over a century, were most readily caught in the Great Lakes and Lake Champlain, making this moon a marker of a vital late-summer food source. It is worth remembering that different nations kept their own names for this moon: the Cree called it the Flying Up Moon for young birds taking wing, the Anishinaabe knew it as the Ricing Moon, and others named it for ripening corn and black cherries. Every version points to the same seasonal truth: August is the month of gathering in, when summer's work begins to turn into nourishment.

The energy of this moon

The Sturgeon Moon carries the energy of depth and quiet abundance. Like the sturgeon itself, an old soul of a fish that moves slowly through deep water, this moon invites you to look beneath the surface of your life and trust what has been growing there all along. It is a moon of first harvest: a moment to honour what you have built since the year began, to receive with gratitude rather than reach for more, and to practise the patient endurance that carries you from summer's peak toward autumn's turn. Themes of perseverance, ancestral wisdom, gratitude and grounded self-trust all swim close to this moon.

A simple Sturgeon Moon ritual

1. Step outside or sit by a window where you can see the moon, and take five slow breaths. With each exhale, imagine setting down one weight you have been carrying through the summer.
2. Speak or write three things you are harvesting right now: efforts, habits or relationships that are finally bearing fruit. Say thank you for each one out loud, simply and without qualification.
3. Fill a glass of water and set it in the moonlight while you name one intention for the darker half of the year ahead. Drink it in the morning as a quiet act of carrying that intention into daylight.

Journal prompts

• What have I been quietly growing since the start of the year, and what is it teaching me now that it is ripening?
• The sturgeon survives by moving slowly and going deep. Where in my life am I rushing at the surface when I would be better served by depth and patience?
• What am I ready to gather in and keep, and what can I release before the season turns?