What if the other fairies (IF there were other fairies) had seen me take one of their pale comrades in the house? Surely they’d be watching and waiting for me to come out again. “What to do, what to do,” the words floated past my lips as I drummed my fingers on the top of the pot. How could I saddle myself, and them, with such disgrace? Showing the world that fairies existed wasn’t an option unless I wanted my children dubbed the prodigy of the worlds’ first known fairy killer. It was the discovery of a lifetime, and I barely contained my newfound joy until I realized I would be labeled the first human to simultaneously find and murder a fairy. But maybe that was because fairies didn’t exist. As far as I knew, there was no law against killing fairies. Sickening thoughts filled my mind as I pondered what to do with the deceased fairy body. My heart sank down to the bottom of my toes, my elation from sipping honeysuckle tea extinguished by the knowledge of the crime I’d committed. If there was one fairy, there must be more. My eyes darted over to my kitchen window, and I started to shake. In a panic, I sucked in a gallon of air and hastily put the lid back on the pot. That was until my right index finger reached out to touch it and move it around, and yes (believe it or not) there were two tiny legs, two tiny arms, and a pair of miniature wings lying right there. I thought maybe it was a small dragonfly or a white butterfly. I mean, at first I wasn’t sure, but then, well.
There, resting on top of the honeysuckle was what appeared to be. When I was done I lifted the lid, but when I glanced down at the wilted flowers in the strainer I was immediately horrified. The tea was so good that before long, I’d almost finished the pot. I drained my cup and drank another, savoring the fluid inside my cheeks. My experiment was successful, just as I’d imagined. It was so much sweeter than I thought it would be. The flavor of honeysuckle exploded across my mouth and wrapped its succulence around my tongue. Tentatively, I placed the curve of the cup to my lips. Picking up the Brown Betty by its ceramic handle, I poured the flower essence into my cup. I eyed the steaming pot as I sprayed down the speckled blue and white Formica countertop with a bleach solution and wiped it clean.
I emptied the dishwasher, put away plates and silverware, and then washed more dishes that were sitting in the sink. How long does one steep honeysuckle tea? Unlike Jasmine tea, a mixture of dried black tea leaves and flowers, my homemade concoction consisted of pure yellow blossoms. Almost as quickly, I dispensed hot water over the honeysuckle, absentmindedly noticing a curious whine that tickled my ears as the water hit the blossoms. I brought my container into the kitchen, grabbed a handful of flowers, took the lid off my teapot, and stuffed the blossoms into the wire mesh strainer. A recent storm had showered the yard a few hours earlier, so I reasoned that the honeysuckle was probably quite clean. My fingers plucked the blossoms with rising enthusiasm, as I avoided the bees, and inhaled the flower’s heady fragrance. It suddenly dawned on me that “honeysuckle” was simply, for all intents and purposes, an East Coast Jasmine.Įxcited at the prospect of creating my own floral tea, I grabbed a plastic container and headed outdoors to where the honeysuckle grew in giant mounds. My mind drifted back to California days, where I had (quite by circumstance) discovered Jasmine flowers growing freely in back alleyways and along residential walls. I mulled over how fancy Oriental Teas, sold at natural food stores, were sometimes made with the tantalizing flavor of Jasmine flowers and marketed at too high a price for my low-quality budget. It was mid-morning, and I entered deep thought as I made fresh-squeezed grapefruit juice with my newest prize, a Jack Lalanne Power Juicer.
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The flowers were in full bloom, and their scent was intoxicating. The grasses and trees were a lush emerald, and the honeysuckle growing just below my kitchen window crept up my backyard fence and spread out over the chain-linked barrier to bask in the sun. It was early June, and the sweltering heat of summer engulfed the suburbs of Washington DC, making me sweat.
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