The stream bank came first. Nettle stood on one side and mint on the other, and neither would cross. The tanuki whispered the same word to both. By morning lemon balm had grown between them, and licorice root had sweetened the mud beneath. He has never said what the word was. The jays claim to know. They do not.
Meet NettleMint
Where the stream slows, it makes a pond that turns gold for one hour after sunrise. The tanuki sat at its edge and whispered to the ginger and the turmeric under the ground. They answered in warmth. Lemongrass leaned in to listen and orange peel fell from his pocket. He carried the first cup to a neighbour before his own.
Meet Golden Pond
At dusk the bees go home slowly, heavy with chamomile and linden. The tanuki followed the last one and whispered a question into the hive. The hum that came back was the recipe. He wrote it down as best he could, which is why the name is spelled the way it is. He pours this one last, when the lamps are low.
Meet Sweet Zzzeees
A spice trader once lost her way among the redwoods. The tanuki found her and walked her to the road. She paid him in cinnamon, cardamom, clove and star anise, and he whispered his thanks into a tin of black tea. The tin has smelled of that morning ever since. He named the blend himself, and he is not modest.
Meet Superb Chai
There is a hollow redwood where travellers shelter from the rain. The tanuki keeps a fire there and one chair nearer to it than the rest. He whispered this blend to the embers: roasted mate, rooibos, cacao, orange peel and a cut of vanilla. The chair is for whoever arrives coldest. He has never once sat in it himself.
Meet The Hearth Blend
On clear nights the moon drops through the canopy and lands in the stream in pieces. The tanuki gathers what he can. He whispered to a wild cherry tree that he would trade it moonlight for fruit, and the tree agreed. Reishi from a fallen log, valerian root and lavender came along quietly. He pours it once the owls are up.
Meet Moonfall
High on the ridge an old owl keeps a library with no books in it. The tanuki climbed up to ask her how she remembered so much. She said nothing and handed him rosemary. He whispered his thanks into green tea, lion's mane and gotu kola on the long walk down. He still does not know the answer. He visits anyway.
Meet Sage Mind
After the stream, the tanuki dug to see how far down the forest went. He found dandelion and chicory roots gripping the dark like hands. He whispered that he would not pull them, only borrow them, and roasted what they gave over a slow fire with cacao and cinnamon. He takes this cup with milk and tells no one.
Meet Iron Root
One green corner of the forest does not belong to the redwoods. The tanuki planted it himself, long ago, with bamboo carried from the country of his oldest stories. He whispers to it in his first language, and the sencha answers in kind. Lemongrass and spearmint keep the two of them company. On hot days he pours it over ice.
Meet Bamboo Grove
The name is a trick, and the tanuki is pleased with it. He whispered this blend at midnight to a sack of Ceylon black tea, and hid cacao, star anise and vanilla bean inside while no one was looking. Then he told everyone it was for the afternoon, which is true. He leaves a pouch on doorsteps and does not knock.
Meet Midnight Mischief