Napu went up the tea tree amid a forest of tea trees, shimmying along a support branch, until she could access the buds and leaves two metres off of the ground. I shimmied up along side her to watch her pluck. In every direction around us in the camp air ancient tea trees spread and wandered in every direction. The tea was the forest and the forest was the tea. Ferns and orchids were intertwined with bamboo clusters, and the smell of loamy soil completed the setting. This wasn’t any perfectly coiffed series of tidy rows of neat tea shrubs. This was a beautiful symphony of bio-dynamic bliss and little minimal human interference. It was very much a moment when words weren't needed to sum up a divine kind of space for an eternal fuel and commodity.
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