Autumn tends to be a favorite season, perhaps because it’s so fleeting. The scenery transforms from brilliant to desolate in the blink of an eye. Do you ever wish you could just bottle it all up? Well, I have good news for you—and it’s today’s Romanticize.
The Romanticize
Make a preserved leaf garland.
The Advice
You’ll need a handful of fall leaves, beeswax, string, parchment paper, a large baking sheet, and a double boiler.
Only use utensils, pots, and clothing you’re willing to sacrifice to the crafting cause—beeswax is very difficult to remove in just about every form.
Make sure your leaves are completely dry before dipping them, otherwise you’ll run the risk of trapping moisture and causing mold. I arranged mine between two paper towels and placed heavy books on top, then left them for a day.
You can use white or yellow beeswax—I chose yellow for this project, as it complements the autumn hues in the leaves. I used pellets since those are much easier to melt than blocks, but if you go the latter route, just cut the slab into smaller pieces so it melts easily. If you don’t have a double boiler, you can put any heat-proof bowl on top of a pot of boiling water.
I held the stems to dip the leaves into the wax right on the stove, but if you need to transfer your wax bowl elsewhere, just place it back atop the boiling water if it stiffens up before you’re done.
I made sure to place my parchment-covered baking sheet very close to the double boiler so any beeswax drips wouldn’t hit the stove (again: avoiding difficult clean up!) I held the leaves up after dipping them to let the excess wax drip off, then laid them flat. It only took a few minutes for the wax coating to harden up.
I tried double-dipping a few leaves but found that the wax became too thick and dulled their beautiful fall coloring—as long as you thoroughly dip them the first time, the beeswax should create enough of a seal that the leaves will maintain their color and shape.
Here’s a reel I made to illustrate the process.
The Inspiration
It’s an overcast autumn afternoon, and the backdrop of grey sky sets off the vivid yellow, orange, and red hues of the foliage in the fields surrounding the farm. I stop first at the large Norway Maple and Silver Maple in the front yard, errant yellow leaves cascading around me in the breeze. I pick through the sunny carpet at my feet, finding the most saturated leaves, then head to the sideyard for a few stunning orange souvenirs from the Japanese Cherry.
Swinging around to the back field, I collect burnt umber beauties from the Maple beneath which I practiced my Samhain spells on the evening of October 31, then I join the sheep in their meadow. Three proud deep-scarlet-purple Red Maple sentries stand at its far edge; I weave through the waist-high grass, dotted with magenta flecks that’ve been carried on the wind, and pick four of my favorites from the shed burgundy bounty.
Melted beeswax fills the kitchen with a honey-sweet warm, soft scent—it carries the comfort of nuzzling a newborn lamb’s coat, or gazing at a candle as its flickering flame casts a ring of golden light into the darkness. Dipping the leaves one by one becomes meditative—my fingertips grow callused with wax, and I look forward to the satisfaction of peeling off the tiny rounded discs, my fingerprints embedded in their scoops.
I pull a length of cotton string and place the leaves out atop it, spaced roughly where I’d like them, in order to estimate the garland’s length before cutting it. Then I sit cross-legged on my living room floor in a stubborn shaft of sunshine, knotting the string around each leaf stem. After tacking the finished piece above my fireplace mantle, I’m greeted with the scent of beeswax every time I enter the kitchen. This lovely piece of perpetual autumn will substantially brighten the winter months.
I’d love to know the results of your romanticize—feel free to share your experience in the comments, or tag me on Instagram. Until next Wednesday, fellow romantics!