Confessions of a Recovering Christmas-Decorating Addict
I love the holiday season. Not the gifts or the stress, but the cozy feelings. The ambiance of the lights. Greenery adorning the usual places, like lampposts, and the unexpected places, like the gas station bathroom. The music. The baked french toast and freshly brewed coffee on Christmas morning. Lounging with my family by the wood stove. Forcing our teenagers to watch just 15 minutes of a sappy holiday movie in hopes they will stay on the sofa of their own free will as young adults.
In 2018, I agreed to participate in a holiday house tour to raise money for a beloved local museum. I had always put serious effort into holiday decorating, but the occasion gave me license to go overboard. I spent an exorbitant amount of money and time smothering our house in garland, wreaths, and ribbon. The effect was actually quite beautiful, but I felt unsettled about the excess. Then I felt overwhelmed when it came time to undo my masterpiece and downright depressed when I realized that even though all the garland and wreaths were natural, they had to be disassembled using wire cutters to be composted. I worked for about an hour getting through a fraction of the green pile and then I did something horrible. I am embarrassed and deeply regretful to tell you that too much of it went to the landfill.
The next year I scaled it way back. The year after that, COVID hit and we moved to the farm and I was free to let it all go and set new traditions.
Inside the house, I’ve whittled down the collection to our favorite and most sentimental pieces. The best are handmade, like a set of cheerful pinecone gnomes the boys and I worked on when they were in elementary school. Mostly I focus on holiday plants. Amaryllis. Paperwhites. Potted Hellebore are wonderful because they can be put into the garden after the holidays and I can continue to use the flowers and leaves in cut flower designs later in the year.
I used to buy and hang wreaths on every bedroom door. Now I make a couple of small hand-tied wreaths and foraged evergreen sink bouquets to make guest spaces welcoming. They last for weeks.
Aside from the 2 wreaths I buy from my lovely nieces for their yearly Scouts fundraiser, I only hang as many outdoor wreaths as I can manage to make with my own two hands. I bundle up and work outside, winding the vines to create the wreath bases. Then I fall into the rhythm and meditation of tying bundles of greenery–some from the discarded Christmas tree branches we trimmed off the bottom, but most foraged from our own property. I feel satisfied and accomplished when I hang my natural art. I am thrilled when a bird lands on my wreath to snack on a seed. When I climb up to remove my wreath in January (maybe February…ok, usually April), I know the material will cycle back to the life of our farm through our compost pile or in our biochar burn (I’ll tell you more about that another time).
Turns out that using our hands to craft has mental health benefits. I felt this to be true long before I read an article on Psychology Today last year titled, Creativity, Happiness and Your Own Two Hands: How Meaningful Hand Use Enhances Well-being.
I very much enjoy driving through our quaint little town and seeing houses aglow and the doors and windows covered in cheer. The plump Santa statues and sparkling bits and bobbles spilling from the aisles at the home goods store still ignite an inner excitement that was planted way back in my childhood. When I popped into the garden center the other day to buy a new pair of sharp pruners, the shimmer and color of the holiday inventory called me. I lingered and admired. I held some pieces in my hands. I was tempted. I might give in here and there over the years to come—I am only human—but not that day. I’m learning to be content with less.