Caring, it turns out, is not a reminder. I kept missing the things I love. Not the dentist or the tax deadline, those have alarms, but the peas I meant to sow in March and remembered in May, the meteor shower I read about the next morning, the one week the elderflower was out. The first frost I learned about from my dahlias.

Remembering to do something later is its own kind of memory, and it is the kind I lack. What is not in front of me does not exist, and the things I love come with no deadline and nobody chasing me, so they lose to the things that do. Not always. Often enough to notice, year after year. What I need is the year laid out where I can see it. A card on the table turns “sometime in April” into “this week”, and this week I can do.

Apps were not the answer. A notification is one more thing shouting in a phone full of things shouting, and I swipe it away with the rest. Farmers had this problem long before phones, and their answer hung in the kitchen: a printed year saying what to sow, when the frost comes and which night to watch the sky. It worked because it was always in view. So mine had to be paper too.

Wyrd Almanach is a printable year: fifty-two week cards, A6, two to an A4 page, for your place and your year. Each card carries whatever you pick and nothing else: the moon and its biodynamic days, sunrise and sunset, what to sow and pick in a northern garden, the old marker days and which of their weather rules hold up, the folk festivals, the garden birds, the tides, the night sky, your own cycle. It generates in your browser, nothing leaves it, no account, no fee. The sources, and what we reject in them, are on the page.