Excerpts from 2023, 2024 and 2025 Tea Letters
Winter’s landscapes are the most otherworldly—the most transformed. You can walk across a lake. There is a tenor of timeless finality. Through the opacity of dim gray night, or the veils of falling snow, the imagination hears what has come to pass. In winter, we all become ancient.
Then, at the solstice, something strange and outlandish occurs. The sun’s return. At least that’s what has happened in the past. We’ll see what happens this time, steeping tea to pass the days until we know for sure.
On the solstice, the sun stands perfectly still in the sky. It says, “stop moving, and you’ll be renewed.”
There is a Chinese expression, yang jing—literally feeding calm, that scholar Francios Julien describes as:
to “nurture” and restore our strength by availing ourselves of peace and quiet, that is, to take our rest, to recover our serenity, to “re-create” ourselves, by withdrawing from the world’s everyday cares and concerns.
My friend Travis and I had birthday tea yesterday and pondered the practice of withdrawing from everyday concerns. I do it with tea, him with poetry. With tea, as with poetry, there is nothing to be gained—only a world of sense perceptions and awareness to be enjoyed.
In poetry the rules of grammar are left far behind. It is an unrestricted creative landscape. With tea, the flavors are the slant rhymes. The steeps are the verses. Paying attention to these is not important. Drifting off, being reminded of something from long ago, getting immersed in a single note, and forgetting that you were even listening, reading, writing a poem—tasting a tea.
Winter Steeping
For winter teaware, I like heavy, formidable, pottery. In terms of the ritual of winter tea preparation, the theme is embracing rest. Each steep I try to relax further into the stillness that winter tea provides. With a dark roast and sinking energy, it's easy to follow the feeling of the tea towards grounded stillness.
For this short window surrounding the solstice, let your tea invite you to do less. Perhaps your teapot can be the sun standing still in the southern sky. Your cup is the moon reflecting its light in the quiet of night.
Roasted Kwan Yin (table tea)
Roasted Kwan Yin evokes the warmth of a cottage, workshop, or even the rustic temple where our compassionate bodhisattva’s statue holds her audiences. There is something homey in the aroma of dried apricots, minerals, and roasted almonds. A warm nook with a big wooden table, enough room for friends and neighbors to pass through—this is a tea for connection. If you have the chance, enjoy this tea while connecting to good company—house spirits, family—whoever is available to join. It’s approachable enough for the novice, nuanced enough for the connoisseur, and just plain tasty.
Meizhan Jinjunmei (crackling log)
Sweet like mulled wine, Meizhan Jinjunmei is cozy and warm, and also bright and encouraging. Smelling the wet leaves, they are extra fruity and intense. Throwing another log on the fire, crackling sparks illuminate the room. You can feel the possibility of light’s return kindled in the depth of winter.
The flavor is sophisticated and nuanced. A usual red tea is warm and sweet. Meizhan Jinjunmei takes it up a notch. Dousing the holiday desserts in spice, the sweets become assertive.
Old Tree Lapsang (grown in connection)
When I ask the Old Tree Lapsang for guidance going into deep winter, it reminds me softly of the friendliness of the season. It tells me of the sun’s return, of soft moments of care and connection that may be needed this time of year. The Old Trees from which this Lapsang is harvested are native tea plants growing in the Wuyi Nature Reserve. No one knows who planted them. They grow out of the long enmeshment of this place— sending their leaves as messengers of that connectivity for us to learn from and with, growing together.
Old Tree Lapsang is actually an all-season tea that offers different capacities at different times of year. It is on the lighter side of the winter spectrum, making it a nice pair with the darker Old Tree Shuixian. I’m glad to have it as a friend for the duration of the deep winter, and am eager for more elucidating conversations.
Aged Old Tree Shuixian (smoky den)
I recommend this Old Tree Shuixian to people who like bold dark teas (and coffee), and also to foodies of all sorts who want to treat their palates. This tea leads you on an amazing gongfu cha journey if you’re up for the expedition. The tastes and aromas, tobacco and leather, conjure images of a smokey den. Then there is the minerality, and a non-dairy milkiness (oat or soy). Best to take this tea slowly, and be with the journey, or you might miss the layers of nuance and catch only the smoky demeanor.
Zheng Yan Rougui (Inner gardens)
Zheng Yan refers to the inner gardens deep in the Wuyi Mountain Nature Reserve. Predating the park, they are grandfathered in as the only tea growing area in its bounds. This Rougui was grown in those rarified gardens in the heart of Wuyi Mountain. Rougui is one of the classic cultivars. It is rich, thick, strong in rock charm, sweet, and a bit spicy. The name actually means cassia, a tree with bark similar to cinnamon. A sense of that fiery taste permeates this tea without a doubt.
Quote from Vital Nourishment by Francoise Jullien, page 14.