A Fall Tradition

I have not written lately, but I have excuses. This week I was making eucalyptus wreaths and baskets with my children. The wreaths are a yearly tradition. We usually make our first one in October.

The baskets I first dreamed of this year. Yes, neither wreath nor basket is perfect. They are not classically beautiful. They're, shall we say, interesting. Nevertheless, when I completed that first basket above, I giggled like a little girl as I bragged to my husband, "Can you believe I made a basket? A basket! And I almost gave up so many times!"

That is so very true. It cramped my fingers, stained their tips sage green, and strained my upper arm muscles as I attempted to jam supple, slender branches through the stacked wreaths to weave them. The lattice work on the bottom was pitiful, not properly patterned at all, but I believe it will hold.

And then we made another one today, my children and I. We sat on a picnic blanket between the two huge Eucalyptus trees in the front yard, and we trimmed young, green branches from the tree, stripped their leaves gently, and then rolled them into several small wreaths. After that concentrated effort of an hour or so, most of my children left the communal quilt to seek the relaxation of television indoors. Analisa and I stayed. She collected Bermuda hay for a witch's broom she had designed from a sturdy, gnarled branch. I broke the poor fingers of our generous Eucalyptus again and again as I weaved and fumed. Yet I prevailed. Our completed, collaborative basket is the one on the left. Not too bad, if I do say so myself.

Short, Mostly Unedited: Grapevine

I stood today in Michael's, looking at all the wreaths made of foam and plastic and wondering where the grapevine had gone.

That old friend Nostalgia, popping up suddenly as he so often does this time of year, leaned his elbow on my shoulder, playfully pouted and whispered in my ear. I had to have a grapevine wreath, and I told my husband just that.

We were on a mission to construct our first, very own Advent wreath, and as Advent begins tomorrow, perhaps we were a little behind in the planning. Fake wreaths, too, are expensive. The more artificial but real-looking fruit and flowers are added, the higher the price tag. Add in the candle holders and purple and pink Advent candles and well...

I had suggested I could strip eucalyptus leaves off supple young branches from our trees and make a wreath out of those, but my man Matthew detests the smell of eucalyptus and couldn't stand the thought of any part of that tree invading his home.

The briar and grapevine wreaths my parents used to roll for a living in Tennessee, during my childhood, would have been free - at least for me, their daughter. I could have asked my dad to roll a thick, beautiful, curly-cued 16-inch wreath, and then my mom, so much more gifted with her hands than I, would have wrapped it for me in ribbon and bows, burgundy velvet or bright red/green plaid. It would have been beautiful; it would have knocked Nostalgia's pants off. I would have kept it forever.

But I'm left to roam with my children through Michael's, and when my son says he doesn't like the grapevine look, I tell him that his Paca and Grandmama used to roll up that vine; they used to make those things. Then I choke up as I say to my husband, "I want it to be grapevine."

So we buy a plastic evergreen wreath with fake poinsettia leaves, real pine cones, and red, beady berries, but it has a grapevine base. We find a silver candelabra and taper candles to make it officially an Advent wreath.

For some reason when we purchase the wreath, with its vine jutting out wildly beneath its festive trappings, I think of the enormous briar one my dad made and hung over our porch out in the boonies of Tennessee at Christmas. He lit it up with strands of light. I remember it being all shades of green - vibrant green, thorny briar, neon green lights. Our neighbors on the other side of the creek said they could see it from across dusty Spann Road, the only ones who could see it, but for them it was a beacon of cheer.

Tomorrow when I light that first candle of Advent, I hope my store-bought wreath becomes that beacon of cheer for all who gather at my table.


Peace on Earth and goodwill toward men.



Wreaths and garlands

 

My house has one outward decoration for the passing world to see; I made the eucalyptus wreath for the front door, clipping pliable branches from our huge trees out front. The wreath is small. It's always too small, but it's flush. The stems I chose for its construction were supple, so they hadn't turned a wizened brown but still had a vibrant burgundy hue. Unfortunately, they were also short. The newer leaves are tinged with rose, so the wreath is sagey green and shades of red - softened Christmas colors.

I make the wreath, because it reminds me of my parents and of Tennessee. My parents rolled wreaths to make a living in the winter, and Dad also made one huge briar or grapevine wreath to hang above our own front porch for Christmas. He strung it with green lights, and our neighbors across the creek would tell us how brightly it shone through the trees along the bank and across Spann Road.

Dad's wreath was huge, impressive. Mine is small and fragrant. But they're connected. I'm keeping the ritual, you see. I'm honoring the Ghost of Christmas Past.

Just as when I strung popcorn on a long stretch of thread last week. I was feeling down, bluesy, but the act of pushing the needle through the stiff kernels and then of pushing them down into place was peaceful and reminded me of my mother. I remember her patience in teaching me to string the popcorn as a child, and this garland of popcorn links me to her and to her calm spirit. And now it's my turn to supervise my children as they help me finish the garland one string at a time (it's still not done). I told my husband that I thought the puffy white garland looked surprisingly elegant. "That's a stretch," he responded. Well, he's not the one putting all the work in, is he? Anyway, it does look a tad more elegant than the red and green construction paper garlands my kids and I usually make.