jennywri
Tea Plant
I am sure this is said about most tangible things of great import, but it’s difficult to believe, standing in front of the tea plant, that for 200 years this was the driving economic force in the Chinese economy and that which, eventually, made global fortunes. I would probably feel the same way standing in front of a marijuana plantation guarded by gun-toting men in Mexico, or if I saw some version of the poppy extract that turns into opium (poppies themselves being attractive enough to impress me, I think, if I saw a big field of them, just for aesthetic value). They’re just things. Things that go inside you, but still just things.
Now, were I to be looking down into a grain elevator full of little white pills that cured cancer, it would be a different story. In that scenario, you’re still dealing with things, but they’re at least things that have a lasting and inarguably positive effect on the quality of your life. Though the negative effects of marijuana and opium consumption are clear, even tea can be addictive, and at any rate I don’t think you can compare the quality of life improvement of tea vs. a cancer-curing pill. (Well, as long as it doesn’t have any particularly foul and widespread side effects.)
Rubbing the leaves, sniffing the plant, squinting at printed pictures of bonified tea plants—even drinking tea to ward off the cold when I returned home from the botanical gardens—didn’t increase my awe of the plant at all. These things only further perplexed me, because again, it’s just a plant. It’s like in high school when I was informed that Jupiter was as large as 260 Earths. I have absolutely no idea what 260 Earths would look, feel, or seem like. Nor do I have any conception of what a life without tea, and then suddenly with tea, would be like.
I think this failure of conception is somewhat inevitable, but it’s something of a hindrance to my being able to adequately appreciate the tea plant. The closest I can come is admiration for the two parties involved: the Chinese, for successfully keeping the identity and productive secrets of the plant secret for such an incredibly long time (it’s as if someone invented the iPod and no one figured out how to replicate it for 200 years…that would be a serious feat of secret-keeping), and the British for puzzling out the plant’s identity in the end, despite the fact that, as the botanical gardens make clear, there are plenty of plants that look, smell and taste (I assume; as a child I was caught stuffing my face with maple leaves in imitation of koalas I saw on TV, and they didn’t taste too bad) good enough to possibly be tea.
These are human accomplishments, which I can understand and admire. But the plant itself fails to evoke that same awe, even though by and large I drink at least a mug of tea per day. Again I think this is a failing more on my part, due mostly to my perspective, than it is of history for overblowing the tea plant or any such thing.
Tea Plant
I am sure this is said about most tangible things of great import, but it’s difficult to believe, standing in front of the tea plant, that for 200 years this was the driving economic force in the Chinese economy and that which, eventually, made global fortunes. I would probably feel the same way standing in front of a marijuana plantation guarded by gun-toting men in Mexico, or if I saw some version of the poppy extract that turns into opium (poppies themselves being attractive enough to impress me, I think, if I saw a big field of them, just for aesthetic value). They’re just things. Things that go inside you, but still just things.
Now, were I to be looking down into a grain elevator full of little white pills that cured cancer, it would be a different story. In that scenario, you’re still dealing with things, but they’re at least things that have a lasting and inarguably positive effect on the quality of your life. Though the negative effects of marijuana and opium consumption are clear, even tea can be addictive, and at any rate I don’t think you can compare the quality of life improvement of tea vs. a cancer-curing pill. (Well, as long as it doesn’t have any particularly foul and widespread side effects.)
Rubbing the leaves, sniffing the plant, squinting at printed pictures of bonified tea plants—even drinking tea to ward off the cold when I returned home from the botanical gardens—didn’t increase my awe of the plant at all. These things only further perplexed me, because again, it’s just a plant. It’s like in high school when I was informed that Jupiter was as large as 260 Earths. I have absolutely no idea what 260 Earths would look, feel, or seem like. Nor do I have any conception of what a life without tea, and then suddenly with tea, would be like.
I think this failure of conception is somewhat inevitable, but it’s something of a hindrance to my being able to adequately appreciate the tea plant. The closest I can come is admiration for the two parties involved: the Chinese, for successfully keeping the identity and productive secrets of the plant secret for such an incredibly long time (it’s as if someone invented the iPod and no one figured out how to replicate it for 200 years…that would be a serious feat of secret-keeping), and the British for puzzling out the plant’s identity in the end, despite the fact that, as the botanical gardens make clear, there are plenty of plants that look, smell and taste (I assume; as a child I was caught stuffing my face with maple leaves in imitation of koalas I saw on TV, and they didn’t taste too bad) good enough to possibly be tea.
These are human accomplishments, which I can understand and admire. But the plant itself fails to evoke that same awe, even though by and large I drink at least a mug of tea per day. Again I think this is a failing more on my part, due mostly to my perspective, than it is of history for overblowing the tea plant or any such thing.