Plaid Sidelacing Gaiters, 1850s

The last part of my new winter 1850s ensemble was a pair of side-lacing gaiter to match my new basque outfit with its knit under-sleeves. I did have them finished for both Christmas events, as I had hoped. The green and purple gaiters are single-soled, so I've only been wearing them for indoor events, while the low shoes from this spring have had a busy year of wear and need some fixing, making them less than ideal for a rainy December day.

New gaiters.

I'm really happy with how these turned out, and how simple they work to make. If nothing else, this was the first time in a long while that I was able to take a pattern I'd previously used (for the re-made plaid gaiters) and just cut out a new project without needing to re-do the fitting and tweak it further.

To expedite matters, I basted and stitched the uppers on machine, with only the eyelets and binding sewn by hand. I also used rubber cement to attach both insole and outer sole, which greatly sped up the process. 

The shoes fit fine, though with the double sole I didn't have enough room to add supportive insoles. They were still a bit chilly when I had to walk over damp grass at the first event, but gave adequate comfort indoors and on pavement. I would like to experiment with adding a warmer period insole (such as the knitted one in The Workwoman's Guide), but didn't have time to make such a thing between the Nisqually and Steilacoom events. I'm also planning to make better laces, probably by dyeing some cut-down corset laces and adding aiglets, but the thick cotton cord seen above worked adequately for a single event.

Plaid Basque Ensemble, 1850s

Finally finished my red plaid wool 1850s dress. I wanted a basque bodice this time, both because they're a popular style that is not well-represented in my current 1850s wardrobe, and because they're a bit more versatile than a round dress (because contrasting bodice/skirt combinations are possible).

Probably should have pulled out the dress form for this.

The fabric is a tropical weight wool suiting that I got from Pendleton several years ago; it's lined with white cotton muslin; the skirt is faced with dark blue cotton (I think from an old sheet), and the basque with self-fabric; the hem tape is a a red wool twill tape from Burnley & Trowbridge and the skirt waistband is a white cotton grosgrain ribbon from my stash.

The skirt's just the usual rectangles, balanced at the top, while the basque bodice is draped-to-fit (shout-out to Kiki for fitting the darts and seams to me).  The sleeve's also draped-to-fit at the shoulder, but the rest of the shaping is modeled on a couple of late 1850s open (pagoda) sleeves in Patterns of Fashion I.

I like the fit of the dress, which is comfortable, particularly through the sleeves (where too-tight armcyes are a recurring problem for me). There's a slight excess of fabric at the top of each sleeve, which I might remove in future; it's not egregious, but I don't love it. On thing which did not turn out as intended is that I meant for this dress to have a shallow V-neckline, again to deal with a fitting problem area (no matter how many times I pin out the excess and swing the darts, I end up with extra fabric at the neck). Despite cutting it as a V-neck on the toiles, when I copied them to the actual fabric, it ended up looking more like normal jewel neckline. It's not gaping, so I can certainly live with it, but I'm going to need to revisit it to figure out how that managed to happen.

Mother Orne's Molasses Gingerbread

We're once again survived Christmas at Fort Steilacoom, and I have once again attempted a period gingerbread receipt to serve our volunteers. This year, I was looking for a recipe that would work well with my gingerbread mold, and really let the picture show through.

At Quin's recommendation, I tried making Mother Orne's receipt (approximately dated 1817-1840s), from Sally Fiske Rope Orne's (1795-1876) Recipe Book. The original in now in the Peabody Essex Museum, and they have a very nice blog post about Sally, her family home, and this recipe, including an adaptation for the modern cook.

Unfortunately, I like cooking on hard mode, so I attempted the original recipe as given.

Sally Orne's Gingerbread Receipt, from the Peabody Essex Museum.

My transcription of the recipe: 

Mother Orne's Receipt for Molasses Gingerbread

9 lbs flour, 1 of fat, 2 1/2 of butter, 3 pints of molasses, 1/2 a pint of milk, 1 tea cup of ginger [and?] large tea spoons of pearl ash. Rub the fat and butter into the flour, dissolve the pearl ash in a little milk, mix the molasses and milk together.

Reducing this down to 1/6 scale, that makes 1.5 lb flour, 1/2 lb butter, a bit under 3 oz of fat, 1 cup of molasses, 1/6 cup of milk (or 1 1/3 fl oz), between 2/3oz and 1 oz ginger, and an unknown about of pearl ash.

I took a tea cup as 4 oz, as given in the domestic measures section of A System of Practical Medicine (1842), however that text goes to explain that while a 4oz is the customary measure, a tea cup filled to the brim might actually contain 6 oz while one filled to normal drinking capacity might be closer 4.5 oz to 5oz. Thus the range of "between 2/3 oz" (customary) and "1 oz" (maximum) in my version.

The pearl ash is a bigger problem, because it does not appear to me to actually have an amount in the handwritten original. The "tea spoons" are definitely plural, but the word before "large" appears to be "and" rather than an amount. Furthermore, everywhere else in the recipe, numbers are written as numerals rather than spelled out, so I don't think it's meant to be "three large tea spoons" or "five large tea spoons", but rather "and [omitted number] large tea spoons." 

For comparison, the Common Gingerbread in Miss Leslie's Seventy-Five Receipts for Pastries, Cakes, and Sweetmeats (1832) calls for 1 tsp of pearlash for 2.5 lbs flour, while the Lafayette Gingerbread in the same book can be made lighter with an optional "1 small teaspoon pearlash dissolved in 1 teaspoon of vinegar" for a recipe containing 1.5 lbs of flour. It does caution that using too much pearlash will give a bitter taste, and both receipts advise that if the pearlash is "strong", half the amount will suffice. Extrapolating from these two recipes, we're looking at somewhere between 2/5 tsp and 2/3 tsp pearl ash per pound flour for gingerbread, or 3.6 tsp to 6 tsp for a full batch of the Orne receipt with its 9 lbs flour. Or half that amount.

I'm going to assume that my modern potassium carbonate is very pure and relatively anhydrous, and thus counts as strong pearl ash. So, even at the extreme end of the taking the original as calling for 6 tsp, half of that would make 3 tsp, and my reduced scale version more like 1/2 tsp. [Note: while the modern version calls for apple cider vinegar to replace the cider, I didn't see either of those items in the original. Miss Leslie's receipts calls for vinegar to use with the pearlash; as that is the role given to the milk here, it does leave me wondering whether the writer meant 'sour milk' to be understood. As it was not spelled out, however, I decided to use fresh milk this time and trust to the molasses providing enough acidity to activate the pearlash.]

Math done, I made the gingerbread by cutting the butter and fat (lard) into the flour, to which I added about 3/4 oz of ground ginger. I added the molasses to this mixture, and then the pearl ash, dissolved (more or less) in half of a 1/3 cup measure of milk. There was actually a fair amount of it left in the cup, so I used a minimal amount of additional milk to get the pearlash into the main mixture. It made a soft but workable dough, which I rolled out and then shaped with my gingerbread mold and cutter.

Plate of finished gingerbread.

The dough was much easier to work with than previous attempts. I found that rolling it out to about 1/8" worked with the mold, but I got the best results when I was aiming a bit thicker (trying for 1/4"), pressed the mold deep into the dough, and then used the cutter around the impressed shape. I didn't bother pricking the cakes with a fork, and they seemed to bake just fine (350F for 11-12 minutes). This 1/6 batch produced 49 pieces of gingerbread (3" x 2"). 

I was pleased with how this receipt worked, and with the molasses-ginger flavor. The texture of the cakes is a bit weird: it's not exactly dry, but somehow a bit gritty or powdery, even when it was fresh out of the oven. On the upside, it seems slow to get stale, and pairing it with hot tea goes a long way. I'll probably keep looking for a different receipt or a way to refine this one which gives a more pleasant texture, but to be honest, it did most of the things I wanted it to (taste fine, make a good impression with the mold).

The Knit Armlet (1838/1840)

From The Workwoman's Guide, The Knit Armlet:

This is very suitable for school girls to wear over their arms or for old persons or people when travelling. They may be made as high as the elbow or up to the shoulder. Little children in severe weather wear them over their little naked arms to prevent them from chapping. Fine black lamb's wool is most usually worn, in which case it should be well steeped in vinegar and then dried to prevent the dye coming off. For a grown up person, one hundred stitches will reach to the elbow. Knit plain as you would a garter, backwards and forwards, using large ivory or steel pins. About twenty rows, more or less, according to the size of the arm are sufficient. Sew down the whole length, leaving an opening of about a nail long to admit the thumb, sewing beyond it to the end about half a nail or less. When worn they cling to the hand and arm, keep them warm, and look particularly neat. Some persons prefer them welted at the top and bottom, or ribbed the whole way. 

As a reminder, a nail is a quarter of a quarter yard (1/16 yard or 2.25"), which is the suggested length of the thumb opening, and means the part of the armlet extending past the thumb slit should be 1 1/8 inch or less. Garter stitch flat and then sew up the sides should produce a similar effect to 1-1 ribbing in the round. 

To turn this into a circular machine project, I set on a 1-1 mock rib (1L3 tension), hung a hem of 20 rows, then knit 62 rows, follow by 10 forward-and-back to make the thumb opening, and another 10 rows around, then binding off by hand.  This produced an armlet about 12.5" total length, with a thumb opening of just over 1.5" and 1.5" covering the hand. I changed the thumb opening deliberately, because I find that ~1.5" fits my thumb very nicely, and so increasing the opening would just give more exposed skin without improving mobility (for someone with hands my size, at least). 

Two lengths of armlets: to the elbow and to the shoulder.

The first attempt reaches just to the elbow on me, which matches nicely with the pattern stating that 100 rows = elbow-length on an adult. Since I intended the armlets for a child (to make a short-sleeve dress more weather-flexible), I then knit a second pair which was intended to go all the way to the shoulder, and let her choose which style she liked best. 

For the longer pair, I set a looser tension (1L2), hung the hem as before, knit 60 rows, adjusted the tension back to 1L3, knit 50 rows, then reduced the tension down to 1L4 for a further 10 rows, followed by the thumb slit and final 10 rows. In total, the second attempt is 60 rows longer than the first, with a slightly looser knit over the upper arm and tighter knit around the wrist and palm. This sizing looked absurdly long coming off the machine, but made a comfortable shoulder-length armlet for a girl of 10.

Christmas Wreaths, c.1850s-1870s

After compiling a bunch of early Victorian Christmas decoration info, I had to try some of the instructions out. Fortunately, Christmas at Fort Steilacoom is just around the corner, so I had motive and opportunity to try making some historically accurate decorations. Also the means, because I was given a bunch of rosemary and holly that some friends needed removed from their garden.

I based these wreaths on instructions in the 1858 Practical Hints on Church Floral Decorations and the 1875 Illustrated Queen Almanac. Between them, wire, buckram, and string are all mentioned at the basis for building wreaths, along with the idea of using no base at all beyond the branches themselves. I went with an option from the later source, and made my wreath forms out of old crinoline wire. I did however cheat and close the loop with scotch tape and narrow wrapped wire rather than sewing it into place.

Wreath number 1, with the first round of rosemary on the base.

For the first wreath, I put a base layer of rosemary on the wire form, wrapping it around with even thinner wire. Most of the rosemary pieces I had were very long, unbranching, and pliable, so this worked well. On the second pass, I added a row of rosemary on the inside of the crinoline wire to cover it, and put my first layer of holly on the outside, choosing the most flexible pieces than could bend to the curve of the wreath.

Nearing completion of the first holly layer.

Even with a gloved hand holding the wreath (I needed the other free to manipulate wire), the holly had its revenge. Just the sources warned me. I didn't like how narrow the whole wreath was with just one layer of holy. For the second layer, I chose smaller pieces, and set them on tangent to the wreath, aiming to get each secured with one or two passes of the wire, and letting the ends stick out. I also worked my two pieces of ivy into this layer, wrapping them around the holly to help secure it in place (along with the wire). The ivy mostly disappears into the holly thicket, but it pleases me to have an song allusion built into this wreath.

Second layer of holly being added to bulk out the wreath.

When I couldn't add any more holly pieces without pricking my hands even more (getting the wire wrapped tight through a layer of holly being the most hazardous part), I called it good. I finished the wreath with 6 bunches of three artificial holly berries made earlier that evening.

  

Holly wreath aptly modeled by the door of an 1858 house.

After using all my other greenery, I has a moderately large pile of those long, flexible rosemary branches left, so I used the rest of the crinoline wire to make a second wreath frame, and started covering it with rosemary. The first layer went just like the holly wreath, though I did both the inside and outside rosemary layers at the same time. From there, I wrapped a second layer of rosemary directly over the whole (no wire, wrapping the very bendy branches themselves), and for the third layer placed the branches on straight, wrapping a red velvet ribbon around to secure them. I let the very ends of each branch stand out to give the wreath more width, and liked that well enough that I did a fourth pass sticking additional branches into the ribbon loops and letting the ends fan out. To complete this wreath, I made a four-loop bow of the same ribbon and tied it with wire over the join where I'd started and ended the ribbon-wrap. 

Rosemary wreath on the door of a different 1858 house.

 

I'm generally satisfied with how both wreaths turned out, though it took a while to get all the rosemary residue off my hands and to forget the holly's prickle. I'll probably do this again if the opportunity presents itself. The swags (for which I have no explicit documentation beyond the general use of 'boughs' and 'greenery') are much faster than the wreaths--I made three of those in about 15 minutes, and spent the rest of a 4-hour session on these two wreaths and the berries--but I think that they have a lot of character and add a fun visual effect that neither a swag nor a neat, professionally-made wreath has.

Artificial Holly Berries, 1870s

Time to try some of the Victorian Christmas decorations I've been gathering references for. 

I found two different methods for making imitation holly berries: one in the 1871 Illustrated Queen Almanac, and the other in the 1875 volume of the same publication. Even though these are instructions from the 1870s, imitation holly berries are mentioned in some of the 1850s sources, and all the materials they call for were available at the time, so I feel comfortable using them for my 1850s-1860s events.

The 1871 instructions call for affixing peas to wires, then dipping them in sealing wax varnish (sealing wax diluted with spirits of wine, aka ethanol), which is straight-forward enough. The 1875 instructions instead use a pea-sized piece of cotton wool attached to a wire, which is dipped in white wax and then dyed or painted red. I opted for a combination of the two, using cotton and wire for the base, but dipping them in the red sealing wax which I had on hand rather than dyeing white wax.

Raw materials, the assembled forms, sealing wax for dipping, and completed berries.

The actual process started by dissembling some extra large cotton balls, tearing them into 8ths or 12ths. Each bit of fluff was then roughly shaped into a tight ball, and wrapped around with a bit of wire until secure. Meanwhile, I melted a small piece of left-over sealing wax.  Once it was nicely melted, I dipped about 5 of the prepared cotton cotton-wire-pieces in it, letting each one dry while dipping the next, and doing a second coat of wax as needed. When my hand was full of drying berries, and paused to let them finish hardening, then set them down on a plate to fully cool. I then set the wax back on the fire, added another fragment to melt when it ran low, and prepared more bases.

When the berries were all made, I twisted them together in clusters of 3 (and in once case 5) for future use.

All told, I made 29 berries out of 3 cotton balls and about 3/4 of a stick of sealing wax (though it was hard to judge exactly how much wax because I was using little scraps).  Even the rather rough berries actually look very well once they're set among greenery, and the wires almost disappear into the leaves.  

One berry cluster, used in a modern centerpiece.

Honestly, this went very easily, and I'm pleased with the results. For next time, I'll want to remember that the smaller berry forms work best (~1/12 of a large cotton ball or slightly more), and that allowing a bit more that the 4" of wire called for the directions will make it easier to attach the completed berries to boughs and wreaths . Also, the wax finish on the berries looks best if the wax is fully melted at the time of dipping, which allows it to spread more easily and gives a nice sheen as it dries. The wax stays malleable as it first dries, which allowed me to slightly re-shape berries that were lumpy or had a missed spot, but that handling ruined the sheen.

Decorating for Christmas, c.1840-1865

It's been awhile since I did a deep-dive into Victorian Christmas practices, so let's look at references to and resources for Christmas Decorations in the first decades of Victoria's reign. [Previously in this series: Christmas Menus, Christmas Trees, Christmas Craft Projects, and Christmas Games] 

The Ghost Christmas Present, with Victorian decorations and food. 

Evergreens & Botanical Decorations

" When the winter has fairly folded our homes in its snows, and abroad we mark no trace of the beauty we have loved, very pleasant is it to see, as the season comes, the green Christmas wreaths, bright with crimson berries, glancing out from the windows as we pass..." --The Ladies' Wreath, 1852

The overwhelming majority of references I've found to Christmas decorations in the early Victorian period are to greenery in various forms.  The Family Friend (volume for Christmas 1862) writes that "green boughs are indispensable for Christmas decoration" and that "no room could be properly decorated without them." It lavished attention on holly as "the best thing that can be used for the purpose [of decorating rooms for Christmas]," but also names laurel, aucuba, sweet bay, euonymous, laurestinus, box, yew, and fir as suitable evergreens for decorating with. Mistletoe and Christmas trees ("and for the Christmas tree, a young spruce or silver fir tree") are also discussed among the seasonal flora. Several years earlier, in 1856, the same publication ran a short article on mistletoe, tracing its Christmas associations to the 17th century, and commenting on its current usage: a good luck charm and the ideal place to kiss one's sweetheart.

 The London Review (1865), concurs with the importance of greenery, observing that "wreaths and sprays and masses of evergreen" are to be found in privates homes, in shops, and in churches, from late December through Candlemas (Feb 2). This article names many of the same plants as before, with holly, rosemary, mistletoe, laurel, fir, pine, and box-tree names as contemporary favorites; historical reference to bay and ivy in 'ancient' carols; and praise for the newly introduced Christmas tree. It also mentions that wreaths of cypress may be seen on the doors of households that are in mourning during the holiday season. 

A weirdly didactic 1863 dialogue between a mother and children, which seeks to contrast Elizabethan Christmas decorations with those of the present day, also focuses on greenery, once again emphasizing holly, bays, laurels, "evergreens of all descriptions" and mistletoe. The Intellectual Repository (1864) mentions holly, ivy, and mistletoe as customary Christmas decorations.

Common Wayside Flowers (1860) names holly, ivy, and mistletoe as the famous plants of Christmas, but observes that ivy is no longer commonly used for decorating. I have noticed in assembling these references that ivy is still frequently named, though it does not appear in all of the sources.

In Charles Dickens's A Christmas Carol (1843), the arrival of the Spirit of Christmas Present is heralded by greenery (along with food): 

"The walls and ceiling were so hung with living green, that it looked a perfect grove; from every part of which bright gleaming berries glistened. The crisp leaves of holly, mistletoe, and ivy reflected back the light, as if so many little mirrors had been scattered there; and such a mighty blaze went roaring up the chimney as that dull petrifaction of a hearth had never known in Scrooge's time, or Marley's, or for many and many a winter season gone." 

So important is holly to the Christmas decoration that English Botany (1864)'s entry on the plant states that "its bright green shining leaves and brilliant scarlet berries are associated in the minds of most Englishmen with Christmas rejoicings and merrymakings." For those without access to this iconic plant, substitutes can be found or made. The Canadian Settler's Guide (1860) describes cranberries being used instead of holly berries to add some red accents to the local evergreens; it also describes a coral necklace being used to the same effect, wrapped around a wreath of cedar boughs. The Illustrated Queen Almanac (1871) has instructions for making imitation holly berries by dipping peas in sealing wax. A farce set in Australia bemoans the lack of holly, bay, and laurel for Christmas decoration, but allows that ivy can be substituted.

Mottos & Methods

All this greenery can be arranged in multiple ways, including general 'boughs' and the familiar wreath. There are also mentions of garlands, tucking greenery behind picture frames, and even elaborate devices with leaves and flowers sewn onto paper/fabric wall-hangings to make pictures or spell out messages. There are also mentions of similar "devices" and "mottos" in fabric, but I'm including them here because they keep appearing in discussions of how to arrange greenery (specifically for churches).

The Wild Flowers, Birds, and Insects of the Months (1865) mentions houses and churches being decorated in "wreaths and branches of evergreens," and again names holly, ivy, and mistletoe.

The Bromley Record and Monthly Advertiser (November 1861) mentions "the usual practice" of putting pieces of greenery behind picture frames or mantle ornaments, and gives--admittedly terse-- instructions for making festoons, bouquets, and an unnamed article in which leaves and branches are mounted on fabric in different designs. Once again, the plants of choice are ivy, laurel leaves, different colors of holly, arbor vitae, fruit, berries, mistletoe, and general 'evergreens.' Interestingly to me, this article also invokes the old heraldic rules of tincture to decorate in high color contrast (putting dark greens behind gilt frames and saving the white/silver 'frosted' ones for display against dark surfaces). 

The Illustrated Queen Almanac (1875, but included here for the usefully clear instructions and because it came up mislabeled as 1855 during my initial reading) gives advice for decorating churches, including helpful instructions for how to make wreaths, artificial holly berries, and glazed leaves. Mottos, paper stars, and various arrangements of ferns are also discussed (mostly for Christmas, though the article is a little vague about which decorations are also appropriate for other church festivals). In a secular context, the 1871 Illustrated Queen Almanac describes making Christmas mottos with rice pasted over cardboard.

Another pamphlet, Practical Hints on Church Floral Decorations (1858), describes making wreaths, devices (cut-outs of zinc, pasteboard, or buckram in meaningful shapes, to which flowers are attached), floral mosaics with seasonal messages, as well as "mottos" for the walls (phrases spelled out in ribbons, calico, or layered leaves). In addition to the familiar plants and symbols for Christmas (seen in all the above sources), this book also discusses the plants to used in churches at other times of the year. Dried flowers are also mentioned as sometimes being used for church decorations at Christmas, in preference to "tawdry artificial ones."

The Building News and Engineering Journal (Jan 14, 1859 issue) has an article describing the Christmas decorations in London churches, very much in line with the aforementioned instructions. This article includes descriptions of festoons, mottos, and bands of evergreens wrapped around pillars. Both natural holly and artificial red holly berries are mentioned.

The Yule Log from The Book of Days (1864).

Fire and Candlelight

While these things are obviously useful comforts in a dark, cold season prior to the advent of electricity and central heating, and thus not exclusive to Christmas, they are also not irrelevant. The above excerpt from A Christmas Carol, for instance, describes and unusually large fire as one of The Ghost of Christmas Present's accompaniments--the only one besides than food and greenery.

A "yule clog" [yule log] burnt in an unusually large fire is likewise described in The Book of Christmas (1852); primarily discussed as a historic tradition, the author allows that burning the yule clog is still practiced in parts of England. After it, the author also mentions unusually large "Christmas Candles":

"Another feature of this evening, in the houses of the more wealthy, was the tall Christmas candles, with their wreaths of evergreens, which were lighted up, along with the Yule log, and placed on the upper table, or dais, of ancient days. Those of our readers who desire to light the Christmas candles, this year, may place them on the sideboard, or in any conspicuous situation." 

The yule log or yule clog, lit from the last bit of last year's log, and accompanied by one or more large Christmas candles are also referenced in Brand's Observations on Popular Antiquities (1853) and in Chambers' The Book of Days (1864) which appears to be using Brand as a source. Thayer's Merry Christmas: A Christmas Collection for the Youth (1853) mentions Christmas candles, albeit in a discussion of symbols, emblems, and superstitions. 

One source which treats the yule log (no "c" this time) and Christmas candle as contemporary is the short article "Christmas Belowstairs" in The London Journal (1858), which treats them as a customary part of celebrating Christmas in the servant's hall (where mistletoe also makes its appearance). The Wild Flowers, Birds, and Insects of the Months (1865) also mentions the yule log in contemporary terms. 

Outliers

One outlier is a description of schoolboys decorating their desks with colored tapers (and drawings and paper-and-cardboard buildings) at Christmas time; though this story appeared in The Kentucky Garland (1854), it is supposed to be reminiscences of a school in the Rhineland. I've not been able to find similar corroborating stories in the English-speaking literature. 

While not explicitly given as a Christmas craft, Godey's series on knitted flowers gives instructions for holly and mistletoe in the same issue. Admittedly, this is in April 1852, so it might be that the knitted plants are merely paired out of the their long, shared association with Christmas.

One of the few references I've found to paper chains (a personal favorite) at Christmas is in the  February 1854 issue of Willis's Current Notes, as part of a description of artificial German Christmas trees. These are "pyramids" made of wood pieces, covered in green paper and decorated with paper chains. Another reference, in the 1861 Leisure Hour Monthly Library, isn't fully available, by appears to allude to gilt paper chains decorating a Christmas tree. 

Conclusion

Greenery, in whatever forms it may be available, are far and away the most easily documented Christmas decorations in the first quarter-century of Victoria's reign. Traditional holly and mistletoe have the most name recognition, but a wide variety of green plants can and have been used. Wreaths and boughs are most commonly named, but the greenery can be hung up in a variety of ways, and (particularly in churches) may be incorporated into elaborate displays.

Special large candles and yule logs are also often mentioned, though they may be slipping into obsolescence. Stockings and Christmas trees are popular activities and means of giving gifts, though they have not fully moved into the realm of being "decorations" in their own right. Most of the small craft projects I found before are associated more closely with Christmas trees than with decorating a room or house (except for the paper roses), and those sorts of projects have no where near the prominence of evergreen boughs in depictions of Christmas decorations.