Barley Moon: Gathering What’s Ripe, Letting Go of What’s Done

There’s a hush in the fields now.

It’s not quite autumn. But the sun no longer burns in the same way. The nights creep in quietly. And everywhere—if you’re paying attention—there’s a whisper: it’s time to gather.

August’s full moon is often known as the Barley Moon, especially in old Celtic and Anglo-Saxon traditions. It marked the first grain harvest, when barley was reaped, stored, and honoured for the nourishment it would bring through the colder months.

But this moon isn’t just about the land. It’s about us.

What are you harvesting from this year so far? What did you plant back in spring? What’s grown wild? What no longer needs to be carried?

The Barley Moon is quiet, grounded medicine. A pause before the next chapter. A gentle reckoning.

Foolhardy Folk in the Arboretum: A Different Kind of Gathering

Back in August, as the Barley Moon rose, I found myself standing in Nottingham’s Arboretum, surrounded by trees, voices, and the beautiful chaos of the Foolhardy Folk Festival. For one day, the old Victorian bandstand was transformed into a space for inclusivity, joy, and communal magic.

Foolhardy Folk wasn’t about headliners or hype. It was about humans. A gathering of misfits, musicians, storytellers, and strangers who remembered that music is meant to belong to everyone not just the polished or privileged.

Curated by Beans on Toast, the festival was rooted in diversity, accessibility, and the simple act of showing up as you are. No costumes required. No mask needed. Just presence. And the music? It cracked something open.

Nick Parker’s set was everything I love about live music: raw, funny, and unexpectedly tender. He has this way of pulling you in with humour and then leaving you with a line that lodges in your chest. Grace Petrie followed with her firebrand honesty, a voice that cut through the summer air like it had something urgent to say (because it did). She reminded me that protest and poetry belong together, that rage can be righteous and still carry hope.

Then there was Beans. Always Beans. His songs felt like a conversation with an old friend: messy, joyful, and deeply human. Standing shoulder to shoulder with strangers, singing along to words we all knew, I felt that rare alchemy where music becomes medicine.

Foolhardy Folk wasn’t glossy. It wasn’t perfect. It was better than that. It was alive.

What the Barley Moon Teaches

The Barley Moon speaks of emotional harvest:

• What are you proud of this year?

• What has quietly ripened in you?

• What can now be laid to rest?

  
  

And festivals like Foolhardy Folk remind us that some things are harvested in community, laughter, song, belonging, the comfort of hearing your story in someone else’s chorus.

This is nervous system medicine. Folk song therapy. A kind of rewilding that doesn’t require a forest, just a bandstand, a few chords, and people willing to listen.

Healing in the Bandstand

As someone who spends much of their life in the therapy room, I’m always moved by how healing sneaks up on you at events like this.

One moment you’re singing along, the next your chest softens, and something you’ve been holding quietly lets go. Not because you’ve processed it, but because it’s been witnessed.In lyrics. In rhythm. In resonance.

That’s the magic of the Barley Moon and the Foolhardy Folk Festival: they remind us we’re allowed to feel it all: the grief, the joy, the absurdity of being human.

And we don’t have to do it alone.

Field Notes for You:

Not all healing looks like hard work; some of it sounds like music. You can be messy, tired, joyful and unsure and still belong. The harvest isn’t always visible. Sometimes it’s felt.

If you’re in a season of gathering, music, meaning, and moments, therapy can help you make sense of it all. Or maybe, like me, you just need a field, a song, and a soft place to land for a while.

Book a free call or read more reflections on seasonal healing, creative recovery, and coming back to your body.

With warmth and wildness, Sarah x

BACP & NCPS Accredited Psychotherapist

Rewild your mind. Come home to yourself.

www.sarahhopton.com