As this blog idea came to me, I resisted. After all, with so many challenges in the world, why should I be writing about drinking tea? A moment later, though, I pushed back against that worry. Yes, the fact that I look forward to my morning cups of tea, to be alone in the world with myself or those I love, is exactly why. What I didn’t know when the idea first arose, true to most of my writing, is how the piece would gather a few folds along its way.
Tea Beginnings
I’m not sure why I prefer my tea black, with a spot of milk. English or Irish Breakfast, please. I could say it is because of my deep English, Irish and Scottish roots. At least that’s what Dad would say, a guy who both romanticized and inflated our Irish heritage. Now, don’t get me wrong as I too have loved drinking a good cup of coffee. About four years ago, I swore off caffeinated coffee as I didn’t like the energy drop I would notice a few hours after having my morning americano. I do enjoy a decaf americano every few days. But I’m noticing my taste for coffee dissipating, and I do appreciate black tea’s subtle lift. Maybe, too, somewhere deep in my spirit is a memory.
Yes, perhaps my love of tea began here.
I escaped daily to visit with my special grandmother who listened to my stories and rescued me from an overwhelming sea of boys.
“How about a nice cup of tea?” she would ask me.
I would nod as I watched her put on the teakettle. WhoWho taught me how to make cambric or “children’s tea,” as she dipped an English Breakfast tea bag briefly into a china cup of just-boiled water. Her blue willow dishes were my favorite, a reminder for me of the book Blue Willow. The tea, now with a hint of brown, she would whiten with milk and sweeten with sugar.
“Sit thee down,” she would say. WhoWho gave me her full attention.My Music Man (pp. 56-57).
As I pushed back about what at first felt trivial, I was reminded (again) how much we each need to find moments of joy. Always. Even when it feels we are out of control, or we find our outside world in turmoil. And, although I occasionally splurge and buy more expensive tea to try out, my usual “go tos” are affordable. And before you question me – no, I’m not a purist. I buy bagged tea. And I like it HOT (thus my wrinkled part of this story). So while I love the occasional (expensive) high tea outing, tea cooling in aesthetically pleasing pots doesn’t do it for me. Yes, I sometimes microwave my tea to reheat. And if it’s after 2 pm and still have a craving, I resort to a decaf variety. There…now I have lost the true tea purveyor.
Tea Purveyors
I recently flew to San Francisco to visit my brother Michael and family. And yes, Michael and my sister-in-law are also morning black tea drinkers. They too understand the importance of this morning ritual. As a thank you for their hospitality and a shout out from Portland, I picked up two boxes of Steven Smith tea (Portland Breakfast and British Brunch) to send their way. I added a note in case they didn’t know about Smith’s mark in the tea business. And that I was fortunate and grateful to know him and his family back when we all attended the Unity World Healing Center in Lake Oswego.
Some may find the tea company’s welcome statement overly sentimental, but I love it: “At Steven Smith Teamaker, we believe that the most meaningful connections are forged over a perfectly brewed cup.” While folks may associate Steven Smith with this tea company, I’m not sure how many know both Smith’s roots and other enterprises. While Smith was co-founder of this company, he may have been best known for founding Tazo Tea, as well as co-founding Stash tea. Yes, some of my favorite blends. He was well recognized as an entrepreneur, but also a philanthropist, working with organizations like Mercy Corps and even creating special tea blends for local organizations like the Oregon College of Art and Craft.
In searching for more information online, I loved learning that Smith was first introduced to tea in his grandmother’s home in his Portland home town. His mother was cashier and partner at Cornucopia, one of the first coffee, tea and spice shops in Portland. I’ve always been in awe of his accomplishments (completing military service, co-founding Stash Tea in 1972, helping to pioneer the market for domestic peppermint and spearmint, launching Tazo tea company in 1994, traveling widely and marrying in India, later living in France, and returning to Portland and co-founding Steven Smith Teamaker brand in 2009). And yet, what I most remember is how kind this man was to me, and I imagine others who he also did not know well. I was sad to learn of his death back in 2015, and didn’t realize until now that an urn containing his ashes is on display at the teamaker’s southeast location, even though I’ve had tea there several times. Thank you, dear Steven Smith, and oh my does your name carry on!
A Wrinkle
This past weekend we celebrated Russ’s 70th birthday. The morning of the birthday celebration, I caused a stir by spilling my (very hot) cup of tea in my lap. Russ couldn’t figure out why one minute I was quietly sipping my tea and reading, only to suddenly jump up, throw my book down and rip off my leggings. Yes, on my front porch. (No worries West Linn Public Library, as the book was spared of even a single drop.) Second degree burns – but no fear, I’ve avoided urgent care (so far) it seems as I follow prudent first aid recommendations.
My joke now, again channeling dad, is that, thank goodness I have no intentions to be a swimsuit model as I suspect my body will gain a few more scars in my future. It will join the many others like the poorly sewn 30 stiches that still shows as a jagged line above my left knee, the time I fell off the top of my brother’s bunk and hit the corner of an open dresser drawer. Or the one on my left thigh from when I fell off a seasaw and Mom used tape to hold it together for awhile. Or the bathtub fall as a todder, mostly faded below my chin and the one under my hairline from that one varsity basketball practice or the one below my right ankle after minor ankle surgery during college or the more significant one on my left foot after I fractured metatarsals playing softball only eight years ago. Time will tell, and scars don’t really scare me. At the moment, the worst of it all is I’m not quite sure how I will make it without my nightly hot bath or that plan to get my kayak and my body into the Willamette this week. Read more books, I guess. And yes, I’m being much more careful as to where I put my tea. (But please don’t suggest that I reduce its temperature.) Need a friend to share tea with? Give me a call.
Russ and I were reminded as we gathered with family and friends, how grateful we are for so much. To enjoy each moment we are given. And yes, that includes those (careful) sips of tea. For me as I sit on our porch some days, like today, as the warm sun makes its showing.
P.S.
I’m very excited to be in conversation with journalist Patrick Webb at the Astoria Public Library on Wed., June 24 beginning at 5:30 pm. We’ll talk about my Pacific Northwest connections, writing, A Map of Her Own and more. I’d love for you to join us!
Related Books and Blogs
Tips for Reading in the Bath: Or how to avoid fines and electricution
Stealing Time with the Tea Girl