Burnt Orange Solstice

 

For this Burnt Orange blog, it feels especially fitting to share my small experiment with oranges as part of my winter solstice observation. I’d seen dried oranges appear again and again in winter imagery and seasonal traditions, so I wanted to give that a whirl. One suggestion was to make a garland: slicing the oranges, baking them low and slow (200–225℉ for about two to three hours), and letting the house fill with that bright, citrusy scent.

At the same time, I’d been reading about Yule and winter solstice traditions- the honoring of the sun at its lowest point, and the use of citrus, evergreen, spice, and fire to call light back in. I intended to make a garland from the baked oranges, but without twine on hand, I placed them temporarily in one of my small orange bowls. Then added a cinnamon stick, a couple of star anises, and ground nutmeg and cloves to the mix. That was when the arrangement took on a different gravity. What began as decoration shifted into something deeper.

Shortly after my mother died, I chose a small photo album and filled it only with images that featured her; some portraits, and some photos with friends and fam included. It became, very deliberately, a Mom album. Over the years and through various moves, it’s lived on shelves and in boxes, but lately it rests in our hallway on a narrow table. A vase of autumnal flowers has kept it company, and now a candle, a pine cone, and these oranges. I don’t know if I’ll make the garland after all because this bowl feels complete as it is, too lovely to alter.

I didn’t set out to create an offering, just a seasonal gesture. And yet here it is, resting between rooms. The oranges will eventually dry out completely, the candle will burn down, the scents will fade. But Yule reminds us that even at the year’s darkest hour, light is already returning. And the impulse to tend to what is fragile, and honor what has passed, always finds its way back.