Aunt Iva

Craig’s Aunt Iva went to her grave without divulging where she found the bittersweet that she decorated her home with every fall. I love bittersweet as well. An invasive, parasitic, and noxious vine which is strangling trees in the Northeast, bittersweet is somewhat rare around here. And, in large measure, its odious qualities are forgiven for the prosaic beauty of its compact, orange fruits that, like pumpkins, are the very essence of fall.

My dog and I lately found ourselves standing in a briar-patch, under a dead tree, both of us covered with burrs, looking up at branches laden with vines of bittersweet. I was wondering how fool-hardy it would be to attempt the 15 foot climb to harvest said vines. Deciding that it would indeed be silly- even for me, I contented myself with some waist-high rose hips whose thorns drove me to profanity as I snipped their twigs into a bag.

Buddy and I made our eventual way out of the briar patch. We both looked quite worse for wear. Along with the burrs that covered us, I was bleeding and bruised. As we rounded a bend in the foot-path, we were confronted by a huge, decaying tree trunk, bathed in the sun’s light and draped in the most abundant growth of bittersweet that I had ever seen.

The bounty of this hapless walk has been wound around a potted pine which I promised my fellow merchants I would decorate. It’s one of many that were donated for ornamenting our uptown square during the 2009 holiday season. That retailing imperatives dictate such readiness for Christmas customers at increasingly earlier dates is irksome, but I’ve found a little bittersweet can delightfully preserve fall’s dominion- at least till Thanksgiving.

We are planning some incredibly civilized and convenient holiday hours. More about that soon!