Tea is one of those beverages I have just never taken to. I feel a deeper sense of appreciation for it, however, after reading Wildflower Tea,
the sensory feast of a picture book written by Ethel Pochocki and
illustrated by Roger Essley. It’s hard to say whether I prefer the
richly evocative narration or the soft, detailed paintings in this
simple story about the changing of the seasons and the value of
patience. Both are exceptionally done and complement each other
perfectly.
Our protagonist is an unnamed old man. The book shows
us seven individual days over the course of seven months. On all but
the last day, the old man takes a walk, a bucket-style hat on his head
for protection, venturing out in various types of weather and across
different kinds of terrain to collect wildflowers.
The first
words in the story are “One sunny Monday in May,” followed by an
indented paragraph, a two-page spread and another single page wrapping
up that day’s excursion. Each day follows the same format. “One
(adjective) (next day of the week) in (next month of the year),” then a
paragraph describing his walk, then the two-page spread in which he
discovers the flowers, then a page for his return journey. The last day
is slightly different in terms of content, but the basic format remains.
We don’t know a great deal about the man, but the story gives
us some clues. He is elderly but industrious, a man who takes quiet
pleasure in nature and looks upon the world with both wisdom and wonder.
He has presumably lived in the humble cabin all his life, unless he
went away and came back or used to merely visit as a child. In any case,
we know that this place has always been dear to him. On the handle of
his mug is a design of forget-me-nots, and each of his journeys seems to
evoke a particular memory, though we can only guess at the specifics.
Each excursion could spark a story. What is the old man remembering on
this particular day?
The writing is richly descriptive and laden
with intriguing metaphors, my favorite of which is “Blueberry blossoms
bowed in the noonday breeze, like nuns in sunbonnets praying.” Adding to
the appeal is the alliteration that mostly is limited to the first half
of the sentence but stretches to include the “b” in “sunbonnets,” as
well as the slight internal rhyme at play between “day” and “pray” and
“nuns” and “sun.” The sentence just sings. I also love the
personification of the plants, which we see most vividly toward the end
of the book. “Here and there lingered the wild friends who had come to
visit and stayed – red clover and purple catnip spires, yarrow and
mallows and other stragglers who didn’t care a fig that summer was over
and continued to bloom.” Wonderful.
I think my favorite
illustration is the one that shows him kneeling in a bed of violets by a
shady stream, my favorite body of water. Few activities bring me more
pleasure than tromping through a creek, letting the murky water soak
through my shoes. He stays safely ashore – I imagine those slippery
rocks would pose a significant hazard to a man his age – but perhaps he
used to run through those waters as a child, just as he climbed the
gnarled trees out in the orchard, whose blossoms sway so delicately,
like clouds caught in the branches.
All of the paintings are
simply gorgeous with a fuzzy, muted quality to them that conjures a
sense of both comfort and isolation. Apart from a cat we see curled up
in a chair on the next-to-last page, the man seems to be all alone in
the world, without even neighbors for miles around. Nonetheless, in
every illustration, whenever his expression is visible, he wears a
placid smile.
Wildflower tea is the result of all of the man’s
scavenging, a brew half a year in the making. If the beauty of the
flowers and the experiences that accompany them can somehow be distilled
into that weathered cup, then that is a drink undoubtedly delicious
enough to tempt even me.
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