Hoarfrost on every twig, frond, and stalk turned to pink icing at sunrise the other morning. Though it was breathtakingly beautiful, it was also deadly, in its way.  Venturing forth in a gingerly shuffle with birdseed and suet, I discovered just how perishingly cold it was after a clear night during which every last ounce of warmth from the earth's surface had flown to the stars. 

The birds at the feeders, fluffed into comical-looking balls to ward off frigid air, fought over sunflower seeds with special urgency. I was the only one laughing. Those of us privileged to have full plates whatever the season, may not remember that a short time ago  humans spent virtually all their waking hours like the birds do, scrounging for food. No well-stocked frig, laden pantry shelves, and lingering vacations for our ancestors.  Nor, for that matter, for too many of our contemporaries at home and abroad, even now. The vaunted social safety net has more holes than net these days. Frankly, I find widespread hunger a scandal in this, the richest and most obese nation on earth. That neighbors go to bed hungry even in our own communities, under our very noses, is a lack we can remedy if we have the will. It may help if you remind yourself: but, for the grace of God, go I.  

Some Native American tribes in the snow belt called the anxious, barren lunar cycle of mid-January to mid- February  "Hunger Moon". Many variables had to work just right for them to have enough preserved edibles to last until the season for hunting, gathering, or planting came again. For eons, time out of mind, people in the cold latitudes planned babies for late spring or summer when there would be enough food for the mothers to withstand childbirth and produce milk for the newborn. Among native peoples the annals are full of accounts of starving times as game grew scarce from the effects of encroaching white settlement, over-kill, or just plain bad luck. Nanook, an Eskimo immortalized in the classic, early 20th Century documentary, "Nanook of the North", reportedly starved to death not long after the film was completed, when neither seal, walrus, fish nor anthropologist  offered themselves up for his dinner. 

As a child, whenever I asked my father how he met my mother, one version of the momentous event was, "Oh, I came around a corner and saw this plump, rosy farm girl and followed her to her table." There was a grain of truth buried in the teasing tale. They met during the Depression, when Papa, a sometime-starving artist, often didn't know where his next meal was coming from and Mama, an Iowa farm girl working in the big city after college, was supplied with weekly food parcels from her parents. A wise man doesn't get his ego in a twist over who is the better provider when the going is that tough. And in any case, banding together for survival is usually an excellent plan -- especially when a gorgeous somebody hoves into view. 

Historically, famines haunt the aftermath of wars, and other political or economic upheavals, adding another tragic dimension to already dire situations for ordinary people. Weather disturbances have also played a prominent part in famines. 1816 was known famously  as "Eighteen Hundred and Froze to Death" after a volcanic eruption filled the upper atmosphere with so much particulate matter that the sun was effectively blocked out.  Perpetual winter enveloped much of the globe. Crops failed on a mass scale, food riots ensued, and many starving souls wandered forlornly as refugees, looking for handouts. Our own New England, continental Europe and a swathe across northern Asia was particularly hard hit. Several hundred thousand died in what was called "The last great subsistence crisis in the Western world." No one could even calculate the deaths in China, apparently. But was it the last great subsistence crisis? 

Scientists worry the time may come again when we are stalked by famine, regardless of where we live and how much we have squirreled away in the bank. Not only could the volcanic black-out be repeated, but one of the consequences of global warming is what it is doing to growing cycles. This past summer there was a serious crop failure of hops -- no laughing matter to dedicated guzzlers, who will soon watch the price of their favorite beverage rise along with the foam. Hops may well be the canary in the coal mine: an indicator of stark shortages to follow. Food banks are at a low ebb, even as economic flabbiness causes the need for food assistance to grow exponentially. It would be wise to learn to garden, if you don't already know how! 

The political races we are currently witnessing reminds us of other kinds of hunger rampant among us. Unlike hunger in the belly ( a physiological need hardwired into us for self-preservation) these are hungers that cannot be appeased. The hungers of imbalance that can kill you. Addictions, in a word, for power over others, for excessive wealth and possessions, for fame, for religious triumphalism, for eternal youth. If you are one who is driven to work or play ever harder, score more, drive faster, hate more, you are in vast company. I will confess to harboring some empty places in my soul, too, that cause me to step in and out of Hunger Moon all year long,  

Other native peoples called this lunar period "Rest & Cleansing Moon." That sounds a lot more appealing. Therein a worthy path beckons, if one can find it, leading to "untapped springs of gentleness and true concern for your fellow humans." O path, show forth!