Do you remember when Dorothy clicked her heels three times and repeated "There's no place like home" in "The Wizard of Oz" movie (actually, it only happened in the movie and not the book by L. Frank Baum -- there were SO many differences between the movie and the book, such as Dorothy's slippers were silver in the book, and ruby in the movie, but then I'm digressing)? That seemed to be the theme this week around our house.
My husband decided to trim some of the trees bordering our property so that they don't knock down our fence. They're evergreen trees, so as the children and I were dragging them away from my hubby, I got the brilliant idea that I'd have to make a wreath out of the evergreen branches. When I was younger, my mother, brothers, sister and I would walk into the woods on a Sunday -- the day that no hunting was allowed -- and collect branches for our wreaths and trimming for outside. We'd form wire hangers into circles, wrap newspaper around the wire, and then wrap the paper with yarn in which we'd insert the pieces of greenery, until the beautiful shape of a wreath would emerge. Every year Mom would say, "I'll never make wreaths again" -- and the next year we would do the same thing over again the next year.
Well, after littering the floor with evergreen and breaking out, I decided that may this would be my last year of making wreaths with the "real deal."
Then, the day after making the wreath, I went outside by myself. I was pr
aying and surveying the lone maple tree out back, which lost the majority of its leaves, when I noticed the rake sitting nearby. Raking the leaves, a nice pile began to form. The interest of the children was formed and then overflowed outside to see what their mother was up to.
The children wished to jump straight-away into the leaves; I had another idea. I moved the pile, and formed two piles: one was situated at the bottom of the slide, while the other, larger pile formed the perfect landing spot for anyone who decided to jump from the swing. The children were delighted and had the time of their lives. I got out the ever-present camera and recorded the time they were spending in the leaves. Then, I smelled a unforgettable aroma; the smell of burning leaves. A neighbor was burning theirs, but it perfectly blended to remind me of days gone by, when I jumped in huge piles of leaves with my own siblings. There's no place like home.
My husband decided to trim some of the trees bordering our property so that they don't knock down our fence. They're evergreen trees, so as the children and I were dragging them away from my hubby, I got the brilliant idea that I'd have to make a wreath out of the evergreen branches. When I was younger, my mother, brothers, sister and I would walk into the woods on a Sunday -- the day that no hunting was allowed -- and collect branches for our wreaths and trimming for outside. We'd form wire hangers into circles, wrap newspaper around the wire, and then wrap the paper with yarn in which we'd insert the pieces of greenery, until the beautiful shape of a wreath would emerge. Every year Mom would say, "I'll never make wreaths again" -- and the next year we would do the same thing over again the next year.
Well, after littering the floor with evergreen and breaking out, I decided that may this would be my last year of making wreaths with the "real deal."
Then, the day after making the wreath, I went outside by myself. I was pr
aying and surveying the lone maple tree out back, which lost the majority of its leaves, when I noticed the rake sitting nearby. Raking the leaves, a nice pile began to form. The interest of the children was formed and then overflowed outside to see what their mother was up to.The children wished to jump straight-away into the leaves; I had another idea. I moved the pile, and formed two piles: one was situated at the bottom of the slide, while the other, larger pile formed the perfect landing spot for anyone who decided to jump from the swing. The children were delighted and had the time of their lives. I got out the ever-present camera and recorded the time they were spending in the leaves. Then, I smelled a unforgettable aroma; the smell of burning leaves. A neighbor was burning theirs, but it perfectly blended to remind me of days gone by, when I jumped in huge piles of leaves with my own siblings. There's no place like home.
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