Circles, there’s no getting ‘round it – for eons they’ve symbolized cycles, unity, wholeness, infinity. I get it. There is something subliminally satisfying about a round, its seemingly effortless completeness is endless. Even a musical “round”, a perpetual canon, has unity and wholeness. As each individual singer starts the same melody at a different time then continues repeating it over and over, the overlapping lyrics and notes are woven into audible cycles that insinuate infinity. It’s all at once pleasing, unifying and complete.
Then there’s the unrelated-to-circles American Beech, a tree native to eastern North American and found as far West as Wisconsin. It’s bark is smooth and silvery-gray. The species can grow to be 115’ tall and endure for 300 years. It possesses flowers of both sexes on the same tree and reproduces both through seeds and root sprouts. Where you see one you’ll normally find many more, standing close together, en masse, a convergence of arboreal clones. Where they’ve been diligently kept in check by constant vigilance, and a few allowed to grow up and out, they are stunning, especially in winter with their capillary-like limbs against the sky.
In summer their green, sparsely-saw-toothed elliptic leaves on outstretched limbs create a delicate canopy of shade. In fall through early spring, the now pale, delicate ecru leaves that don random holes and spots of rusty sienna, rustle on limbs with the passing wind. Most, though, have fallen and possess a new beauty in their skeletal-like state. I find the leaves at this stage quite compelling – no doubt, the muted, neutral colors that move me, the reason. They have a rather graceful way of waning away in their final act.
So what’s the deal with circles and American Beech, you ask? Read on my friends.
Many moons ago there was a particular rage for grapevine wreaths decorated for different seasons and holidays. You could buy them plain or decked out for the occasion. I liked the idea of the grapevine wreath but there are things I’m not content to buy already done. Some of that is about the challenge of doing it myself. Where we used to live, in another lifetime, I had access to wild grapevines and could satisfy my urge to make my own wreaths. I loved the curly, hardened tendrils that shot off of the vine in search for something to cling to. They added a unique dimension to the wreath’s inner circle and outer circumference, if, that is, I was lucky enough to keep them in tact when weaving the vine around itself. But, we no longer live where I have such easy access to the vines. Sure, I could still forage for wild vines, it’s not out of the question, but one of the thrills about creativity is seeing new ways to do traditionally done things – in this case, wreaths.
I got a seed of non-traditional inspiration from one of those high-end catalogs I used to get, perhaps a Williams-Sonoma, Crate & Barrel or Smith & Hawken. It was a Christmas time wish book that had one particular evergreen wreath embellished with orangey-red berries and such and best of all, bare-naked twigs that snaked out beyond the circular edges. The wreath was all ready for ordering. It was beautiful – traditional yet just a tad offbeat and definitely unique. I wanted one … bad. Sticker shock on the price of the wreath coupled with the shipping cost kept it just a wish. Well … not quite. Those were leaner times and being frugal added to the need to find a creative solution when I got myself doggedly on the scent of something I really, really wanted. Besides, I’ve already said there’s something about the challenge of doing some things myself. Have I ever mentioned that I’m also the queen of rationale?
I can’t tell you exactly when but a solution did appear. Walking though our acres of woods in the new area we lived, the one without wild grapevines, I had one of those eureka moments one autumn day when the leaves had mostly fallen. Our property is pregnant with American Beech. They’re handsome even in their nakedness. The lithe boughs, especially the smaller ones, are long, delicate and supple. They have even smaller elegant twigs that shoot off from the longer, more mature lanky boughs, and terminate with long, slender buds shaped like minuscular cigars. The smooth grey, delicate limbs with buds shrouded in raw sienna scales are a glorious color pairing, at least in my world.
I had a vision and saw possibility! I got my clippers and snipped away at the smaller diameter boughs, not making a dent in the profusion of beech that have been spawned through their ability to procreate via both seeds and root sprouts – the prolific devils!
Using the smaller diameter, and thereby more pliable boughs, enabled me to bend the limbs somewhat in an arc although not a perfect one. By adding more and more limbs and each time and starting at different locations I finally came up with a mostly round wreath with an abundance of marvelously errant pieces that pleased my funky-look-loving creative heart. A few extra snips to tidy up the design and I was one mighty happy camper.
As I’ve aged, I’ve parred down on what had been a zealous desire to decorate for the holidays. As such, I don’t have the first American Beech wreaths I made anymore. But, when I did, I embellished the originals with artificial pine boughs, pinecones, feathers, eucalyptus, and red berry clusters, simulating in my own way, the wreath I’d seen in the Christmas catalog. They were unique and made my heart sing. I hung them all over the house at Christmas, a wish realized.
Recently I made a few new ones for myself and one for a dear friend who lives where there are no American Beech. The one for the friend was a sort of thank you for us having acquired some things from her part of the country, when Steve and I vacationed there, not indigenous to Connecticut. I also like the idea of the invisible thread, the spirit of place that now joins each of our properties that spans 2,000 miles because of the swap of non-indigenous items. And, I like the simplicity of the new wreaths without additional ornamentation except for the occasional holiday like Memorial Day or July 4th.
If you’re inspired to make your own American Beech Wreath, a suggestion on when to harvest the boughs. Anytime during late Fall into early Spring is good. Waiting until the buds start to unfurl from the shroud that covers them will yield partially hatched leaves on the ends of the twigs that you’ll need to take off (unless you like that look). I prefer the buds to be closed and tight.
It’s said that what goes round comes round. That the American Beech possesses flowers of both sexes on the same tree gives it a wholeness and completenes like that which circles possess. Using the beech to make a wreath, then, seems the perfect creative pairing.
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