Remembering tea with Grandma.

I guess I will have to find out for myself what the fuss is all about. I have read about it, and even watched a short National Film Board documentary about it, and now I will have to try it. King Cole Tea. The company’s roots are in Sussex, New Brunswick and many Atlantic Canadians are fiercely loyal to King Cole Tea. So I am having it for breakfast today. I am not sure what great tea tastes like.
Tea is part of my heritage. I grew up in a home where the tea pot was on the stove all day.

When I went down home to visit my relatives, they all drank tea. All the time. I remember summer afternoons in Mira in Grandma’s kitchen, having hot, sweet tea with fresh cow’s milk and cinnamon rolls. Other times, Grandma would make perfect tea biscuits topped with butter she made herself from the thick sweet butter cream. The seemed to make the chore of milking the cows every morning somehow worthwhile. At my Dad’s funeral, the reception was held at the Mira hall. I remember the ladies there serving tea with sandwiches. The milk was already added to the tea. They didn’t ask; that’s just the way they served it. I don’t know how good tea should be, but it should be reassuring; comforting.