The season of tea

We are officially in the season of tea. The funny thing is that I used to hate hot tea. I had grown up on the syrupy sweet iced versions of the south, and it wasn't until I moved to New England that I realized there were other versions besides Lipton. It took me a couple years to start drinking it because like my love affair with beer, I had to find a gateway tea—a starter tea, if you will. At first it was Irish Breakfast with milk and sugar, which Jenna introduced me to the winter we started living together. Then it was Earl Grey and English Breakfast. Soon I was asking for recommendations at 1369, and I tried hearty rooibos and delicate white teas. (It helped that they celebrate a tea month, where they highlight a new tea each day and sell it for $1.) In the warm months, I started drinking iced green and herbal teas, unsweetened, maybe with a splash of lemonade.

But there is nothing like the beginning of hot tea season—not to be confused with pumpkin spiced latte season, which happens at the mall or in the morning right before I get on the bus to work. The beginning of hot tea season means sweat pants and socks, the revival of my yarn stash, evenings spent watching movies or reading long past our bedtime.

In the south we have to simulate the winters of New England. We wish for white Christmases, for chilly mornings and reasons to wear the scarves we got for Christmas. So actually living here, actually having to shelter ourselves from the harsh of winter, the beginnings of which is heralded in by tea season, feels like a gift each year.