My mornings start with a mug of black tea. I leave the kettle to boil while I light a fire in my wood stove. I lay in a large log, then cover it with paper, shreds of cedar kindling and larger fir pieces. It catches flame with dramatic gusto as the wood is not completely dry and the sap crackles and shouts though the morning calm.
Last summer I met a beautiful, red-headed English woman. She came into my little pottery shop with a happy gait and laughter in her voice. We somehow got onto the subject of drinking tea. She informed that the tannin, black tea with milk and sugar I drink each morning is called Builder’s Tea.
I love this expression. I can see big smiles and wry jokes over hot cups of honesty. I crack the door on my wood stove and watch the flames dance. I sit drinking my morning Builder’s Tea, luxuriating in the warmth of the fire.