I tried something different in the vegetable garden this past summer.
Between the woodchucks and the filtered light from the trees, I've struggled to reap a good harvest. Over the years, I've noticed that the family of furry little varmints living beneath my garage has little appetite for anything particularly stinky. So, I grew a bunch of garlic, which they had no interest in, and planted an assortment of herbs and flowers I hoped to dry for tea.
It was a success!
This morning, I spent some time filling jars with the leaves and flowers I harvested and dried, preparing for what I believe to be the coziest weeks of the year.
I seem to be one of the few people who actually enjoy turning the clocks back and having darkness arrive by dinnertime. For me, it's the most restorative time of year. And now, in addition to fuzzy socks, the warm flicker of a candle, and flannel sheets, I have the pleasure of sipping teas that I started from seed and watched grow all summer.
What is it about the ritual of tea?
When someone stops by, I almost always offer to put the kettle on.
We sip. We chat.
There's something healing about it. An earthiness that grounds me.
When I'm alone, tea soothes me. The warmth of the cup in my hands is comforting. It keeps me company while I write. A spoonful of honey satisfies a craving for something sweet.
Somehow, this simple ritual has become a bridge between conversation, connection, and creativity.
And this year, there's the added pleasure of knowing that I grew what's in my cup.
It feels good to have wrapped up the gardening season without throwing a tantrum and chasing fearless woodchucks around the yard. Having enough tea and garlic for the foreseeable future feels like a victory.
A truce.
An understanding that this tea is mine, and I won't be inviting them in to join me for a cup.
A truce does not mean we are friends.
I would still very much like them to relocate from beneath my garage. And I would still very much like to grow more vegetables.
But I'm not going to think about that now.
Now is the time to light a candle, pull on those fuzzy socks, and put the kettle on.
Wishing you all much warmth in the days ahead.
xo.