Boxwood Wreath

My name is Sonja Foust and I am a procrastinator. I didn’t want to do this pin. I was very, very afraid that even in its simplicity, I would somehow cock it up beyond recognition and I would have finally hit the bottom of this craft handicap I seem to have been born with.

So I did everything else I had to do today besides test this pin. And then played on the Internet.

But I have a blog, and I must carry on. It’s boxwood wreath day.

Image from Love of Family & Home

I was hoping my significant other would call while I was completing step 1 so that I could answer the inevitable, “Whatcha doin’?” question with, “Oh, just trimming the hedges.”

Alas, he did not.

I had plans to do this the right way at the kitchen table and everything with a hot glue gun like the post says to, but there were some questionable elements on some of the trimmings that made me think this wreath’s home should continue to be outside. I reasoned that I would just start stuffing branches and if it looked like it needed some hot glue, I’d plug that puppy in on the porch and go to town.

As I was stuffing, I recalled that I’d had painters painting my house and trim a few weeks ago, and some of the branches were decorated with something highly resembling trim paint. If that happens to you, you can toss those branches back out in the yard. (I’m sure trim paint is biodegradable.)

Putting this thing together was kind of like doing a jigsaw puzzle, only way easier and a lot more tree-huggery. It actually went really fast, too. And was fun.

And when it was done, it looked pretty goddamn decent, if I do say so myself.

I was so beside myself with crafter joy that I decided I was going to hang that shit on my white picket fence, because that’s what a crafter would do. I hunted around in the garage until I found some picture hanging wire and marched my happy white ass over to the garden gate.

It took two tries to get it centered properly, but I think I win the prize for cutest fence ever.

Of course, then you have to ignore the dumpsters, the haphazard garden hose, the broken bird bath, and the fact that we haven’t raked and there’s a patio umbrella in the planter.

I am choosing to assume that this will remain green for longer than a day, although I have my doubts. I’ll check in when it turns all brown and I’m too lazy to take it off my fence and it starts to look like the family who used to live here abandoned everything for the zombie apocalypse, or the end of the Mayan calendar or whatever.

For now, though, I’m just going to bask in the fact that I crafted some shit, motherfuckers.