Sometimes the best classes are the ones that don’t go according to plan. On a rainy Sunday afternoon at Crown & Crumpet, a forgotten box of tea became an unexpected teacher.
It may be as simple as walking into a tea house on a rainy day, where symmetry is found in stepping out of the rain and into new friends.
I will not say that I was perfect on this day.
My prized box of tea was somehow out of reach, left at home, I thought. Despite driving back as fast as I could and turning over every item, it was gone. I had to teach the class with something else.
Seven pairs of eyes watched as I pulled out the Gong Fu tea wares, the sacred geometry coasters, and the scale to weigh the tea that must be.
For the tea is the poetry.
On October 26, we blazed a trail of easy steeping and conscious dreaming. I love tea, and I love people, because they always have more to discover than I can possibly anticipate.
A couple’s love, fresh with honor and flirtation.
A mother and daughter leaning into the tea knowledge,
sturdy in each other’s glow. An old friend unseen for years.
All of us traveling down the journey of tea,
and I, guiding with broken expectations.
But the tea had more to give.
I dove deeper into the stores, the unseen teas and breath.
We began with the classic Chinese Long Jing,
a fresh meadow opening up before us,
and then dipped into Gyokuro of the gods, a special batch.
The old friend said the rightness of it was in her heart immediately.
We ventured into Sheng Pu’er, and it brought me home to my lover.
Our engagement-party tea still tasted like honeysuckle shimmering within. Love you Beata.
Soon we were eating an appetizer of dumplings from our hosts at Crown & Crumpet.
Then onward to face the tannin gods in Shou Pu’er.
This turn was for the worse, its taste firm as slate,
and we sought more whimsy.
So to the cliffs of Wuyi Mountain,
where stone and whimsy meet,
and then the rich wine of Long Kou Oolong
rounded our tongues with flowering liquor.
Suddenly high tea was upon us.
Our hosts brought three tiers of delightful food,
with more than enough sweet and savory offerings for all.
Then the red drink, Jin Jun Mei, a chocolate-like elegance that sharpened us a bit. Next we landed in Purple Bud,
the lateral buds of the tea plant, a tea fresh as a sweet pine forest, yet deep as a spring. We danced there awhile, back and forth.
And then there it was, the box I’d lost returned.
It had sat outside the door, hiding in plain sight.
Three of us dipped in with some Bug-Bitten Oolong, syrupy goodness.
But the wonderful Rosa had left,
her presence lingering through her gifts. Thank you, Rosa.