I’ve seen the stupid t-shirts. I get that it’s stunning.  And yet, I thought it was really more distant. We went to this town where farmers grow their own food and people live in hippie happiness pretty much all year round. Granted, the June visit was easy on the senses.  To make it warmer and fuzzier, my friend made poppy tea. Here’s how it works. You order poppy bulbs for planting, cut them, drain the seeds inside, and grind the hard bulb in a coffee grinder. Then you brew the tea, bringing the mash to almost a boiled and letting it soak for a good while. I suppose the chemistry of time and proportion comes with experience. 

life is good

Then you drink the tea. It’s dry, bitter and tastes like pressed hay blended with dirt and a touch of water. After you drink it, you walk around Ithaca’s gorges and Cornell’s campus. If you’re lucky, you stumble into a strawberry field and you eat as many strawberries as you can possibly stuff in your mouth. Then you just lie on the grass and let the sun hit your face. Another giant hug from the universe.