Why Hazel and Honeysuckle Belong Together

By late September the hazel hedges have done their work for the year. The nuts are brown, the leaves are turning, and this summer's slender stems — the ones countrymen call wands — are still green enough to bend without snapping. Honeysuckle is the same: its woody vine, twisted round the hazel like a badly tied parcel, is at its most pliable in the weeks either side of Michaelmas, and it holds whatever shape you persuade it into.

That makes autumn the natural moment to make a wreath. Not a Christmas wreath of evergreen and wire, but something looser and browner, with dried seed heads catching the low light. It takes an afternoon, costs nothing, and the hedge does most of the work.

What to Gather, and What to Leave

You need a handful of hazel stems, roughly 60–90cm long and about the thickness of a pencil. Cut them cleanly with secateurs, close to the base, choosing straight ones without side shoots. For a wreath 30cm across, six to eight stems will do. Take honeysuckle vines in lengths of 40–60cm, bundled three or four at a time.

Then the seed heads: honesty is the classic, with those flat papery silver moons. Teasel, nigella, allium, poppy, sedum and old man's beard all dry well. Rosehips and hawthorn berries add a flush of red, but think carefully before you take them.

• Take no more than one in twenty. A hedgerow stripped of berries is a hedgerow that starves fieldfares and redwings in January.
• Leave anything you're unsure of. Spindle, guelder rose and black bryony are all beautiful, and worth more on the bush than on your door.
• Check before you cut. Woodpigeons and some finches nest well into autumn, and dormice are protected. Look closely at dense tangles.
• Ask first. On private land, a Site of Special Scientific Interest or a nature reserve, permission isn't optional.

Collect into a basket rather than a bag and use the stems within a day or two.

Twisting the Hazel Ring

Work with the stems fresh; they bend best that way. Take one wand and flex it gently along its length between your hands to loosen the fibres — impatient bending is how they break. Once it's supple, curve it into a rough circle about 30cm across, tuck one end behind the other and twist to lock it. This first ring will look untidy.

Build the base by threading the remaining stems alongside the first, spiral-fashion, so each new wand overlaps the last. Bind as you go with jute twine at four or five points, or use thin honeysuckle stems, which grip beautifully as they dry. Finish by weaving in one more wand to cover the twine, then squeeze the whole thing gently into shape — not a perfect circle, but a shape that looks as though it grew.

Weaving in Honeysuckle and Seed Heads

Now the interesting part. Wrap honeysuckle vines around the hazel, letting them twist in both directions. Work loosely, so the vine sits proud of the ring and catches the light, and keep things a little asymmetric. Three or four vines is usually plenty.

Then tuck in your seed heads, pushing the stems through the hazel so they sit snug, and laying a thin honeysuckle strand over them to pin them down. Group in threes rather than dotting evenly; odd numbers look more natural. Honesty pods at the top and lower right, teasel heads off one side, a few rosehips near the bottom. Old man's beard is best draped loosely, and it will hold for weeks.

Hanging It and Keeping It Well

A sheltered door is the whole trick: under a porch, an arch or a deep lintel, where rain reaches only at a slant and the wind doesn't batter it. Avoid south-facing walls, where sun will bleach the pods and crack the hazel. Hang it from a loop of twine on a nail, using two points if the ring is heavy, and check it after the first gale.

Mist the wreath lightly every fortnight with a plant mister; this keeps the honeysuckle from going brittle without encouraging mould. Fresh from the hedge it should hold through October and November, and well into December if the weather is kind. When it finally collapses, strip it onto the compost heap — twine and all, if it's jute — and plan next year's cut for October.

A Wreath That Gives Something Back

Half the pleasure is in the hedgerow itself. Go back a fortnight after cutting and you'll see the hazel already pushing new shoots from the cut points, and the honeysuckle throwing out long trailing growth along the top of the hedge, where it flowers best. Light, careful cutting is good for a hedge; the trouble comes from cutting everything, everywhere, every year.

So leave the berries for the birds, leave the tangled corners for the dormice, and take only what your door can hold. That way the wreath on the wall is a small record of a hedge still doing well — which is, honestly, the point of the whole business.