On my tree, a wooden wreath of spools, beads, twine and ribbon, another craft from one of my younger sister’s December 1st birthday parties. If it were made of fake evergreen limbs, it would surely get lost on these imitation branches, and its weight makes it sag a bit. But it got me thinking that perhaps I should get a real wreath for my apartment door this year from one of the tree vendors on 30th Avenue.
The day after Thanksgiving, two competing tree lots go up near my apartment: one outside of Key Foods, the other outside of Rite Aid. Walking down the sidewalk is like walking through the forest, and the smell of fresh pine is intoxicating. Usually one of the lots will start to sell wreaths from all the lone branches severed from the adjustments and bindings made at sale time.
My mom would make wreaths close to Christmas, calling our neighbor to ask if she could cut some greens from the overhanging boughs in our yard. And we had faux wreaths on the front windows of our house for many years, secured by wires which were hidden by a large red ribbon as if the wreath were dangling from that thin piece of felt.
Circle of evergreen to symbolize the seasonal wheel, the birth-death-rebirth process. A totem in the dark of winter to remember the green spring that will come. A crown of candles for the head, or at the X points of a candelabra in the church during Advent, lit by the taper, snuffed by the bell, this sister circle to the home’s Advent log.
