I have been saving wine corks for years, tossing them into a pretty crystal bowl in our dining room. Mom and Dave recently made me a set of trivet bases, which I filled with a few of my favorites.
The cork on the bottom was from the bottle of wine we shared on a recent anniversary.
I snagged this one following a fabulous dinner with my Madison girlfriends a couple of years ago.
This set also reminds of them…
Some don’t have sentimental meaning—I just find them interesting. I love the red stains on the ends.
Corks could be completely utilitarian. They are concealed from sight until a bottle is opened, then likely tossed aside without notice. I admire the attention to detail and effort devoted to something that could be so plain.
My collection, though, isn’t growing like it used to. Now, many great wines have screw tops, and I often skip over a bottle in favor of a box, because it’s . . . um . . . better for the environment. Sure, that works.
In case you’re wondering if all this wine—and my tendency to attach meaning to seemingly useless items—will land me on the next episode of “Hoarders: Buried Alive,” rest assured I’m not saving the boxes. You have to draw the line somewhere.
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