Hello Winter: Editor ' s Letter

H E L L O W I N T E R

A N E D I T O R ' S L E T T E R

Let’ s be honest—winter can be a particularly hard season.

In a way, the snow naturally lends itself to coziness. When the thermometer dips, big fluffy jackets come out, hats get dusted off, and mittens are remembered. It’ s a time of homemade pie and bread, evenings spent by the fire.

But just because the season lends itself to cozy things does not mean you can spend every winter without a bit of struggle. For many of us, winter means the onset of seasonal affective disorder, or SAD. It can be hard to smile on a day when the sun sets at five in the evening. We struggle, and that’ s okay. Life isn ’t always perfect, and that’ s okay.

I myself had a harder time creating COZY issue two. In the fall with issue one, I felt right at home writing and taking photos. When I stepped outside, things were bright and crisp. The birds were migrating and my garden was bustling with its final harvest. In the winter, the world is…barren. Soft. Lonely. I didn ’t even realize how much certain aspects of the season were affecting me until an unusually sunny day late January when I was startled awake by some song birds speaking at my window. Listening to their song, I felt an emptiness fill in my chest—an emptiness I didn 't know I had.

This winter issue almost felt dishonest at first. How do we find coziness in a time filled with such emotional and mental hardship?

What finally brought me to the beauty of winter was none other than tea.

When I think of what “ cozy ” means, tea is an easy answer. From its various mixed leaves to its inspirational quote tags telling you to " smell the roses " and "listen to your heart, " tea is a cozy staple (pretty much anything served warm in a mug is). I believe it was Lin Yutang who once said “There is something in the nature of tea that leads us into a world of quiet contemplation of life. ” If you want to take a moment to breathe, tea is there to help you find that first breath.

When I need warmth in the winter, lemon ginger tea with maple syrup is always my answer, or maybe a nice spiced chai with honey. But to be honest, tea has always been a given to me—a box I keep under my bread cupboard. The act of microwaving my water and sitting down with a book was just that, an act. Once I finished my tea, that moment of warmth was over. How could I keep the cold out for longer than a cup?

The answer came in my garden.

This past summer, I actually grew tea for the first time. During a late night trip to the grocery store, I saw a lone chamomile starter falling asleep by the sliding door. Without really thinking about it, I placed it in my cart. Inspired by my late night find, the next day I returned to pick up another chamomile starter and two tulsi starters for good measure. (I did experiment with growing my own plants from seed, but let’ s just say that story didn ’t have the best ending.)

The act of growing tea was nothing like I’d ever experienced. Compared to my tomato vines and potato sprouts sitting in their neat rows, my tea plants were wild. My chamomile exploded onto the scene with dense foliage reaching left and right. My tulsi was so large, I had to use driftwood to keep it from tangling with my lettuce. The harvesting, to be honest with you, was rather tedious. Chamomile flowers come in bunches that must be carefully cut from their stem…and there ’ s many of them. Tulsi leaves must be harvested across the plant evenly…and there ’ s many of them. Most evenings in my garden were spent slowly picking leaves and flowers and dropping them into mason jars. By the time fall rolled around, after hours and hours of work, I had two mason jars of chamomile and six jars of tulsi.

At the end of my harvest, I put my jars in the darkest corner of my kitchen and left them there. I was too afraid to “ waste ” my hard work by actually drinking the tea. My effort sat idle for months. But when the winter snow came and the sun started resting behind the mountains as early as four in the evening, I knew it was time for the tea. On a particularly cold evening, I cracked open a jar filled with a mix of chamomile and tulsi.

The only word I know that can properly describe the smell that hit me is… joy.

Summer joy. Warm joy. Cozy joy. Right in the middle of the darkest part of winter, summer was weaving through my bones. While I am sure my tea was no better than the bags you can buy at the store, in that first cup of homegrown tea, I was convinced I was tasting the best thing in the world. Suddenly, brewing tea wasn ’t a mundane routine, but something deeply personal. Something really and truly warm.

I didn ’t just experience coziness, I made my coziness. While many days this winter were hard and long, I knew I always had my homegrown tea to look forward to. It was small, yes, but it was entirely mine, and it filled my heart to the brim.

Tea became a reminder—a reminder that warmth, in its own way, will always be waiting for us when we ’ re ready for it.

I found my version coziness this winter, and I hope you find yours too, whether it be small or large, outside or inside, or in your own home or on these pages.

Now, let' s make some tea and get cozy, shall we?