My former student and friend Maggie Heine of Louisville, Kentucky kindly agreed to contribute to Creative Sanctuary this month. Her thoughtful piece celebrates autumn, rooibos, and wanderlust. Thank you, sweet Maggie!
If you ever find yourself in southernmost South Africa, pay attention to its strange, shrubby fields. You may happen to see an odd little plant with needle-like leaves, covered with tiny golden flowers. Aspalathus linearis. You won’t find this bush, somewhat unremarkable at first glance, growing anywhere else in the world—farmers ranging from China to the U.S. have tried to harvest it in their home countries and failed. That’s because of the wonderfully strange ecology of South Africa’s Cape region: our planet is composed of six floristic kingdoms, or geographic areas with relatively similar plant species. If you’re reading this, chances are that you’re in the gigantic Holarctic kingdom, which comprises the vast majority of North America, Europe, and Asia. The Cape kingdom, on the other hand, is miniscule, containing only the very southernmost tip of the African continent. Despite its small size, it’s extraordinarily rich, and the majority of plants that call this kingdom home can only be found in that dot on the tip of South Africa.
The entire area is beautiful beyond comprehension, nearly extraterrestrial with its mountains that jut up against the sea, its preponderance of baboons and ostriches, its wide blue skies that become enveloped in clouds in an instant. Now that fall has finally arrived, I find myself thinking about that remote speck and all of its ecological strangeness regularly. I’ve been to South Africa twice, once in the southern hemisphere’s winter, and once in its early spring. During these trips, about six weeks in total, I was rarely without a cup of tea clasped between my hands. This brings us back to Aspalathus linearis, or as it’s commonly known, rooibos. When its leaves are plucked, dried, and steeped, they create an infusion that’s smooth, nutty, and the slightest bit sweet. It’s sold en masse in South Africa like we sell our Lipton green tea—clearly, it’s nothing fancy, but it’s my constant companion when the weather turns chilly. I love the drink for its flavor, but it’s also more than that. For me, rooibos is the feeling of bundling up at daybreak to search for zebras and lions from an open-sided Jeep; it’s looking out over the expanse of the ocean from 4,000 feet up a mountainside; it’s falling asleep to the sound of rain on an old tin roof. It’s South Africa, in all its botanically bizarre wonder.
I am more productive and less grumpy when I take the time to orchestrate not sad desk lunches. Last week I slipped and found myself scrambling in the early afternoons. I ended up eating unmemorable and somewhat unhealthy food.
When I entertain, I almost always favor savory over sweet. I’d rather linger over a few small bites before dinner than serve a rich dessert after dinner.
Oh, how I’d love to slip away to Melbourne for a weekend! Alas! Quick visits to Australia are out of reach for most of us in the Northern Hemisphere. But all is not lost. My memories and pictures bring me back to the mosaic floors of Melbourne’s elegant covered passages and its iconic street art. And in my Kentucky kitchen, I revisit a stunning meal shared with my good friends Stephanie and Jeremy.
“…I brought to my lips a spoonful of tea in which I had softened a piece of madeleine. But at the exact moment when the mouthful mixed with cake crumbs touched my palate, I shivered, attentive to this extraordinary thing that was taking place in me. A delicious pleasure had invaded me, isolated, no notion of its cause. It had instantly made me indifferent to the vicissitudes of life, made its disasters harmless, its brevity illusory, in the same way that love operates, filling me with a precious essence: or more accurately this essence wasn’t in me, it was me.” –Marcel Proust, Du côté de chez Swann
The beginning of August was gloriously cool and breezy—not Iowa State Fair weather by any stretch of the imagination. Mom’s cozy front porch is underused, so one day I welcomed her home from work with a mini porch party. It was a snap to organize this tiny gathering:
My friend Sahar is a cardamom tea connoisseur. Milky and minty with a bold cardamom profile, her morning sips are robust and comforting.
I am sorry to say that Peter was not very well during the evening. His mother put him to bed, and made some camomile tea; and she gave a dose of it to Peter! —The Tale of Peter Rabbit, Beatrix Potter
My little patio garden is bursting. Each year, I tinker with this square space off my kitchen. I’ve learned that it’s too sunny for impatiens and that begonias thrive in the morning sun. Potted herbs always take off, and so each summer I find myself swirling ribbons of basil into gazpacho, stirring mint into lemonade, and topping my green salads with chives.
ge chopsticks for months… two sets lovingly displayed in narrow, silken boxes. I figured the local antique shop wouldn’t sell them right away, so I hemmed and hawed. They definitely weren’t ivory—maybe resin? The floral cloisonné was dainty and delicate. I liked the weight of them in my hands. I slid them back in their case.