The simple act of holding a hot cup of tea, one might argue, carries the warmth of a quiet embrace. It’s a bold statement, but it rings true if you tease apart the layers.
This story began a few years ago, after a summer where pandemic upheaval, a large construction project, and the relentless demands of the growing season left me feeling paradoxically both drained and stuck in overdrive. After one particularly long market day in the fall, I stayed up way too late to assemble a new tool that had arrived. Luckily, I could stand outside myself just long enough to laugh at the futility of it all. It was time to gear down and treat this body with the same respect that I wanted to offer our customers through healthy vegetables and herbs. It was time to reduce the external stimulation and recenter. The next day, I switched my morning ritual from coffee to tea and haven’t looked back.
On my stove nowadays is a simple periwinkle kettle that hums its way through the day, well used and ever faithful. Each evening, I fill the kettle with a blend of tea, herbs, and spices. It whistles once, then I let it rest overnight, steeping in patience. By morning, the infusion is ready—its flavor deep, its heat quick to return when necessity calls. In summer, the first sip takes me outside, where the sunrise waits to greet us. But in winter, my preference is to sit by the woodstove, tea in one hand and open book in the other.
There’s an undeniable connection between what we consume and how we feel. Plants offer more than nutrition: they bring us caffeine for energy, warmth for digestion, ease for the nerves, iron for the blood, and, sometimes, a sense of comfort that goes beyond the physical.
I’m writing this at the tail end of fall, a heavy frost outside my window sparkling in the early golden morning light. Several vases of plants on the counters and windowsills that are the components of our regular Dandelion Spring tea blend—Surya (sun tea)—have been gathered to enjoy just before the first hard frost.
Tulsi basil, also known as holy basil, is a respected “adaptogen” in the Ayurvedic plant science world; sweet with a tad of spice, it is known to travel where you need it to go in your body.
Calendula flowers are bright orange, sticky with resin, hearty, and yet a little moody once freshly picked. Good for your skin, we infuse them in olive oil to add to our soap (or to apply to the skin directly) and dry many of them for tea.
Anise hyssop carries a light licorice flavor that, even as a non-licorice eater, I find to be the perfect balance to the more syrupy-sweet tulsi. It is known to be soothing to the respiratory system. From pollen in the summer to dust and particulates always active both inside and outside to winter woodstove time, support for the lungs always feels important.
Lemon verbena is our final base. With a strong lemon flavor that isn’t cloying, it may not hold many historic qualities noted by herbalists, but it adds a lightness to the tea blend. We often speak of lemon flavor as being bright. Not only does it taste that way, but I wonder how much of that translates to how we feel.
While I’m not one to shy away from a dose of caffeine, there are many ways to add a quality buzz to the herbal mix. I often turn to Brunswick-based The Little Red Cup Tea Co. for that extra kick.
I’ll return to the plants and a gentle infusion in hot water many times today, morning, noon, and night. If I’m using our fresh plants, the water won’t quite have come to a boil before I turn off the heat and gently infuse for at least three minutes (with the lid on to hold in those wonderful plant compounds!). I often drink with leaves, stems, and flowers right in the mug. There is no need for fancy straining devices!
I’m starting the kettle again right now for a second cup. The sun has risen above the horizon of the far farm fields, and steady, quiet energy is fueling the body. It’s time to purposefully engage another day.
