Enjoy: Homegrown + Handpicked Tea All Winter Long
In my tiny kitchen on the wooden shelf above my sink, you’ll find glass jars full of dried leaves, flowers, and berries. I love they way they look and the Good Work they represent. It takes time and intention to fill those jars. I work at it from the beginning of spring, when the primrose and violets are blooming to the end of fall, when I get my last batch of peppermint from the garden and wild thyme from the field. every year when I’m harvesting the 4th batch of peppermint in the boiling sun, my back hurts and I wonder if we really need this much tea.
Some of our tea jars
Then I quickly remember that the answer is yes. The answer is always yes. Actually, we probably need more.
We drink herbal tea every day all winter long. It’s one of the ways we get through the cold, long winters up on this hill, in this very small house. Peppermint is our daily brew, with local honey (did you know Slovenia is famous for its bees?). It’s refreshing, awakening, and delicious. If someone is sick, I mix up a potion of yarrow and nettles, with some Moroccan mint for flavor. Dried elderflower tea tastes like my version of heaven — indescribable. Red raspberry leaf helps with that time of the month and one of my favorite combinations just for pleasure is red clover and dandelion.
I think one of the best parts of that shelf loaded with jars is the fact that most of what we’ve collected are overlooked, ordinary, and even sometimes hated weeds in the garden. Our manicured lives have us killing the dandelions in our lawns with poison and buying dandelion tea packaged from the grocery store. People hate nettles in their gardens and have forgotten or dismissed the benefits of nettle tea. Mints are invasive in a vegetable garden, but if you have a headache, peppermint tea can help alleviate the pain. The point is God gave us a lot of gifts in this life, and many of us are blind to them. There are signs everywhere of His generosity, but only for those that look for them. It reminds me of a quote we have hanging in our home:
“And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. Those who don’t believe in magic will never find it.””
The act of harvesting flowers, leaves, and berries for tea, though it’s slow and steady and takes a lot of intention throughout the season. The task forces you to see the world differently. They say it’s best to harvest after the morning dew dries but before the warmth of the day (I don’t know who they are, but I listen), so you’re already refreshed and hopeful for the day ahead (in theory, hah). Harvesting violets and violet leaves for tea teaches a lesson of appreciation. Each bloom is wispy and the scent is fleeting. I know I won’t be able to collect much of it — maybe enough for a special cup of tea on a particularly gloomy winter day — but still, it’s worth it.
When I harvest red clover, I notice how much the bees also like it even though I don’t really pay attention to the little blooms on a daily basis, and I am reminded that a different perspective on something so ordinary can make all the difference. I love the pink pompoms filling my basket, begging me to run my hands through them. The tea is fruity and bright.
Wild thyme is called materina dušica here, which translates to “mother’s soul”. I’ve always found this such an appropriate name because to me, the smell of thyme instantly makes me think of my mother and my grandmother. Their hands always smelled of thyme, and now mine do too. My heart swells when I harvest big bunches of it, full of remembrance and appreciation for my mother’s soul and her mother’s soul. It grows wild in the fields — so romantic. We drink it when we’re fighting a respiratory bug, and of course, cook with it almost daily.
I love the way the bunches of mint look, drying over the windows in my house all summer long. The first day I hang them up, the whole house is filled with the refreshing smells and I think of that daily pot of mint tea we will be enjoying in a few short months. It’s a lot of steps - growing, harvest, bunching, drying, storing - but it’s one of those things that drastically improves the quality of our life. It’s an investment of time and energy into the future, when things aren’t as bright, green, and simple.
This year, our neighbor came over with a big bag of linden leaves and blossoms. I’m not sure there’s a better gift someone can give me. Linden — lipa — is a beloved tree here in Slovenia. I love listening to people talk about it with such reverence and kindness.
There are a lot of other tea harvests, pretty purple borage star-flowers, wild strawberries (if you can keep them out of hungry toddler hands), red raspberry leaves, black currant leaves, yarrow (another favorite of mine), calendula, elderflower, rose petals, and I always make a jar of mixed tea. Each year it tastes different, I throw a little of each individual harvest into the jar, and the result is a surprise.
The most challenging harvest is the one that means the most to me. Chamomile — kamilica. It’s my nickname here, and I love and appreciate this bloom so much that I got it tattooed to my forearm. Chamomile is delicate. The petals are soft, the stems and leaves are wispy and fragile, and you might be tempted to think the plant is weak. But what I love so much about chamomile is its resilience and it’s surprising strength. It can grow anywhere, in any conditions. I’ve seen it grow out of cracks of dry earth, producing plump and fragrant blossoms. Last year our torrential storms knocked over the plants, and the blooms simply turned their heads towards the sun and kept growing up. Nothing stops chamomile. Even the harvest, which ends production, results in more chamomile because somehow more seeds get sown. Chamomile comes back again and again, and if you’re smart, you can see the wisdom and comfort in that. Harvesting chamomile requires patience. Each little flower head needs to be plucked off, with as little of the bitter stem as possible. It’s an act of love to harvest a lot of chamomile. A basket full of chamomile smells like nothing I can describe, but it’s bright, fruity, and exciting — a lot of that is lost when it’s dried. The beautiful blooms bring even more comfort in their tea form, easing stomach aches and worries. What a gift this ordinary plant is.
We will experience some these harvests together this year and dive deeper about the benefits, both spiritual and physical, of these common but miraculous plants, but for now, it’s -8 degrees Celcius outside, and I’ve just made a pot of peppermint tea. I feel like I remember each leaf that I harvested. I appreciate myself for the work I did back then to enjoy right now. And that’s the beauty of homegrown and handpicked tea.
