“We have a framed hair wreath in one of
the other bedrooms upstairs.”
These
words were spoken to my friend Ellen and me by the innkeeper of a lovely Bed
and Breakfast in Jenks, Oklahoma just this past March.
“We
have a framed hair wreath in one of the other bedrooms upstairs.”
If
you’re saying to yourself, “What the heck is a hair wreath?” you’re not
alone. I was thinking that very question
when the nice innkeeper uttered that particular phrase. What the heck is a hair wreath?
Before
I give you an answer, let me tell you a little bit about my friend Ellen.
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| Ellen and me with my mouth open. Big surprise! |
Ellen and I have been friends for
approximately 21 years now. We met in
our Hebrew summer language course our first year of seminary in Richmond,
Virginia. Summer language school is a seven
week intensive course in either Hebrew or Greek. Both languages are required for potential
Presbyterian pastors. And at my seminary
the seven week course was like boot camp for ministers.
You
know how when you’re thrown in with a group of strangers in an intense setting
such as a trip or a course, and you bond really fast, thinking that those bonds
will last forever but once the course is done they don’t? I felt that way after those seven weeks. Yet I’ve lost touch with just about everybody
else from that first summer when I ate, drank and slept Hebrew, but not with
Ellen. We remain.
Our
friendship has seen marriages, children, moves, job successes, job failures,
life successes, life failures, disappointments, heartaches and
celebrations. We’ve lived nearby and
we’ve lived far away, but still we remain.
One
of the ways Ellen and I keep our friendship going is by planning girls’
weekends. They don’t happen as often as
we like, but whenever possible we seek out a place approximately halfway between
our respective domiciles and hang out for a couple of nights at a B and
B. Basically, give El and me a
hearty breakfast, antiques and an innkeeper who knows the best places to shop
and we’re in, people!
So
back to where we began – the hair wreath.
A hair wreath is what it sounds like.
It is a wreath made up of braided hair from many women in a family. Women would often keep a small porcelain
container on their dressers. It was
covered but the cover had a hole in the middle.
As women would brush their hair, they would place the loose hair into
the container to be saved. Ellen
remembered her grandmother having just such a thing sitting on her nightstand
when Ellen was growing up. I don’t know
if anyone in my family tree did this, but I found it fascinating (and, if I’m
honest, a little weird) that this was such a prevalent practice. But weird or not, the hair wreath was
beautiful.
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| The infamous hair wreath |
As we looked more closely you
could see the different shades of hair woven together. There were various hues of brunette, blonde
and gray. I closed my eyes and imagined the
different generations of women all collecting their hair, and the time and love
that went into braiding that hair into this kind of creation. It was both art and memorial. It was a testament to each woman – unique,
individual, beautiful, yet all woven into a larger whole.
Ellen
and I aren’t in the same family. We
don’t share DNA. Our hair color does not
match. Our temperaments are different. She is calm, cool and collected, and I’m …
not. But still as our friendship grows
and changes and weathers and deepens, we’re weaving our memories together as
surely as those women wove their hair.
We remain.
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| Ellen, the author, and Ellen's lovely daughter, Shelby |
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