f you’ve been following my column for any time you know that I have no use for winter. I have begun many an article griping about the cold wind, the cold temperatures, my cold house. I have to wear way too many clothes (which some people say is a good thing).I can’t hop into the river for a refreshing salt-bath, and the sand-bars get exposed and covered up without me setting a foot on them. But, before I have everybody thinking I am just an old curmudgeon, let me offer up the things I do like about winter: The fishing is great. The sunrises and sunsets are spectacular. The tourists are scarce. Yes, winter certainly does have it’s advantages. But, for the most part, it is cold and sometimes dreary. I think most everyone would agree that spring can’t come fast enough.

That’s why I believe God gave the Lowcountry the camellia. It’s His way of saying “Hang in there. Spring’s not far off. Here’s a little something to lift your spirits.”

Think about it: camellias begin blooming in October and go through March – the coldest months around here. You have your reds and pinks, and whites; your double blossoms and singles; you have your solids and stripes. It’s a regular fireworks show. When everything else is brown and drab and lacking spunk, the camellia stands up straight and yells, “C’mon guys! It ain’t that bad. Look at me!” It gives credence to one of my mother’s truisms, “Bloom where you are planted.”

Camellias carry us through cold times, and just when the rivers begin warming up, the marshes get soft and green, and the fiddlers start their dances, the camellia quietly and selflessly folds up her blooms and retreats into her summer rest, content to let us forget about her until we need our spirits lifted once again in another winter.

In my yard I have 21 camellias. Some are old, old plants that the gentleman who originally built my house planted way back in the 30s and 40s. Two great big camellia trees stand sentry over my front gate. Every time I drive up to my house, I find myself being careful not to run over the blossoms that have fallen from the tree. I can’t avoid them all, but it seems wrong of me to crush the happy little blooms. It’s bad enough they fell off the tree, I don’t need to make matters worse for them by squashing them on the pavement.

My friend, Carolyn Smith, called me and said, “We need to get together at your place so I can show you how to wax camellias. I think that would be something good to write about for your Bluffton Breeze article.” I told her I would certainly keep that in mind, and secretly placed that trump card up my sleeve. Well, needless to say, this month I dilly-dallied around and found myself in the familiar position of being behind the 8-ball. I called Carolyn up and said, “I’d like to cash in my trump card…..I mean, would you have time to show me how to wax camellias?”

We made a regular party of it. Miss Carolyn came over with all the supplies (thank goodness – she made it easy for me. All I had to supply were the camellias and the kitchen!) Her sweet daughter, Marti, came by to make sure we didn’t burn the house down, my editor/photographer, Donna, came by to snap pictures, and her husband, Ted dropped in so I wouldn’t be totally outnumbered by women. Miss Carolyn got right down to business showing me how to properly wax camellias – a process that was easier than I expected:

First, in a double boiler, we melted some paraffin wax…the type you would use in canning. Our instruction sheet said to melt five pounds, but we quickly learned that you only need that much if you were planning on waxing every camellia blossom in Beaufort county! While the wax was melting, we filled a big bowl with ice water, to use as a chilling station. Outside, we cut a bunch of full camellia blossoms from my trees, making sure we left enough stem to be able to dip the entire head of the bloom in wax – kind of like a candy apple.

Using a candy thermometer, we tried to keep the wax as close to about 138 degrees as possible. Much hotter than that and the blooms will scorch when dipped into the wax (as would your fingers!); much lower, and the wax will have a tendency to glob up on you. We added some mineral oil to the melted wax to keep it smooth and liquid while we dipped the blossoms. Though the recipe we were using called for a pint of oil to 5 pounds of wax, we cut the recipe in half.

Once everything was just about right – the wax melted nice, the blooms nearby, and the ice water waiting – we tried our first one. I can’t say that I have actually seen a camellia being waxed before, so I wasn’t sure what to expect. I tried to get Miss Carolyn to dip the first one, but she would have nothing of it, saying, “This is your article – you do it!”. So, taking the stem of the first blossom, per Miss Carolyn’s instructions, I slid the bloom into the wax until it was fully submerged leaving it there for just a blink of time before lifting it, shaking a drop or two of excess wax off, then sliding it into the cold water to set the wax.

I was done.

There were no oohs and ahhs. No sighs of adoration. No fanfare. But just as soon as I pulled that camellia out of the water, a transformation had taken place. I was no longer looking at a living blossom, but something more akin to a porcelain sculpture. The beauty of my blossom was locked in inanimate perpetuity. The petals, once soft and velvety, were now fragile and brittle as china. I lay the newly waxed flower in a basket of magnolia leaves to drain.

I grabbed the next blossom to see if I could see the exact moment of change in the process. I never did. And before I knew it, I had a regular production line going in my little kitchen. We laughed and carried on and told jokes, but in the back of my mind, I remained in awe at this simple little procedure and the profound effect it had on the camellia bloom. Once waxed, these blooms may last for only a day to three weeks before decaying from within and leaving an empty wax shell.

This little get-together was more than just craft hour for me. I had gotten together with a group of friends and we set about doing something that is intrinsically “Lowcountry.” Had we had a bottle or two of wine between us, there’s no telling when we would’ve stopped.

As we messed about, we waxed two or three dozen blossoms. Some came out better than others, I admit, but for the most part they were all great. And it was a source of therapy for me, too: I felt dreadful removing these pretty little flowers from their trees prematurely, but now I’ve got 30 or so camellia blossoms locked in a permanent state of happiness! These guys will eventually wither from within and they are fragile so they are subject to being mishandled, but for now, I have a beautiful basket of blossoms that I can use for any centerpiece. By picking and waxing the prettiest blooms off my trees while they are in their peak, I have assured these self-personified flowers that they will not have to be humiliated by falling from their perch and being squashed by some car tire.