A wreath is a welcoming element for a front door. Wreaths say, “We’re happy you’re here.” A handmade wreath says, “Stay awhile. We have beer.”
There is a hill behind my parents’ house that is a grapevine (excellent wreath material) paradise. The hill is not a rolling pastoral setting with wildflowers, but a cliff.
If I fell while foraging for wild vines, it could take at least a full minute of tumbling, dependent on rocks and trees, until I hit the path in the middle of the hill. Of course, if momentum had me in her grasp, that slight path might not stop me. The tumble could continue down the next half of the hill down to the road. Hard, but the road would stop a further roll down the next part of the hill, and to the bottom into the creek.
Because I choose biodegradable, I must keep myself spry.