From The Old Farmer's Almanac.
So while Deb trekked to Perth with a few of her girlfriends I took the kids in the opposite direction for some camping R&R - Dad-style. We piled the '75 Kombi up with all manner of goodies; foodstuffs that require extra dental maintenance, tent & sleeping bags and enough water to see us through our 24 hour getaway.
An hour or so later we found ourselves bumping around a highly corrugated dirt road, stopping only to put the sliding door back on and re-adjust the luggage. And once the two younguns had wiped away the last of their tears for fear of being sucked out the void that once held the door, we arrived at our wonderful camping grounds.
Nestled amongst a grove of peppermint trees, which were overshadowed by the towering karri, we started our campfire and began sorting ourselves out. Tent first, then chairs, then dinner. Logical. Ordered. Supremely methodical - like a well-oiled machine (unlike the Kombi).
After tucking the kids in bed for the night and sharing nightmare-inducing stories, two brushtail possums decided to visit. Well, the kids weren't about to miss this for quids so up they got and fed them with scraps of bread. I know the signs say not to feed the possums, but I think they mean the other possums, for these ones seemed delighted with our gifts.
Saturday morning saw the obligatory walk through the forest with Dad and new camera in tow. Those poor children will remember their early years the same way I remember my mother with a pair of secateurs in her hand.
Spring had passed so there wasn't much to tickle a flower-hungry photographer. However, this soft white seed covered the bush. An obviously well adapted climber, it would often just dangle from the understorey treetops like a mat of old lady hair. It was completely beautiful and as soft as it looks. I'm not sure what it is, and it might even be some rogue invasive weed, but it was pretty nonetheless.
Then the two youngest were pining for Mum and home so we packed up camp and sauntered off . Did they enjoy themselves? They sure did.
And once home, I was able to spend a few hours working through shredding some of the prunings pile. Back to reality.
If you think the Poinsettias in this photo look real, you should see them in person - you must touch them just to make certain that they're not the "real thing."
What looks, for all the world, like pine tips, is an excellent rendition of our native white pine.
What arrangement or wreath, real or silk, wouldn't benefit from the addition of lush berry sprays, such as these?
With just a few pine cones as decoration, these wreaths certainly come across as totally natural. A few sprigs of faux berries and a bow would only enhance this natural look. But, sometimes, "less is more."
These handsome faux berries are just perfect, perhaps mixed with silk greens, in a carefree, country arrangement. 
The samples from this fruit and flower stand will survive in your own creative arrangements, from year to year.
How about a rich, crimson berry wreath, hung above the fireplace?
From the tree to garlands, wreaths, swags and topiaries, silk "pretenders" are often the sensible solution. Without the potential fire hazard or shedding needles of the real thing, silks are the viable alternative, providing more peace of mind. Many are even resilient enough for some exterior decorating projects... just ask which are suitable. 
Red, burgundy, gold, silver, white, blue or green? Velvet, satin, weather-resistant or wired edges? Plaid, striped, dotted or patterned? Soft and subtle, or vibrant and shiny? Chances are that a garden center has more choices than you could imagine... and for those of us who remain perpetually bow-challenged, an expert staff to tie it all up for you!
Oh, and don't forget the beaded garland... to lend that elegant, or perhaps playful look, to the Christmas tree. Draped from from branch tip to branch tip, nothing adds that graceful element quite like strands of beaded garland - whether your tree is fresh or silk.
"She tells her love while half asleep,
There’s some stuff I that I no longer need to know. I bet it’s the same for you. Like, I no longer wonder what would happen if I forgot to change the cats’ litter box for a whole week. I don’t need to keep looking up to confirm that the clock over the desk stopped at 3:00 weeks ago, and it still says it’s 3:00.
