Of Origins

You know those little sheets they handed out around the fifth grade—the ones listing what felt like a hundred pre-approved life paths? It was one of those classic “what do you want to be when you grow up?” assignments, printed on copy paper and passed down the row like some sacred scroll. Everyone took one, circled a few careers, and handed it along.

The goal was to inspire, I think. But looking back, that sheet felt more like a menu of conformity. No “Other” box.

No room for nuance.

I stared at that list like it was some ancient code I had to crack. I took the whole day, but eventually landed on two titles that felt closest to home: Cartoonist and Scientist. I was deep into MAD Magazine, constantly doodling on desks, homework, my arm—any blank slate that caught my eye. At the same time, I was obsessed with mixing things. I was completely convinced that I was the sole inventor of the 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner. Until my mom pulled out a VO5 bottle from a Dollar Tree bag and casually crushed my dream. But that urge to combine, to tinker, to invent—it never left. It just evolved.

At the same time this was happening, another doorway opened in my life—one with a distinctly mystical edge. From ages 11 to 14, I had this unforgettable group of three friends. They were smart, funny, full of fire—and they also happened to be self-proclaimed witches. They weren’t joking, either. They had crystals, candles, and little worn-out paperbacks full of spells. They inducted me as their warlock, gave me “assignments,” and opened my mind to a world I didn’t even know I was craving.

I started researching what it meant to be a witch. I scoured this strange new thing called the internet, hunting for rituals, spells, ingredients. I spent hours reading about herbs and the way different cultures used them—for healing, protection, dreams, transformation. I didn’t know it yet, but I was learning the language of the plant world, and it was speaking right back to me.

We’d spend afternoons watching The Craft and Charmed, talking about magic and herbs and how we’d probably start our own coven one day. It was all imagination—but it was also very real. Those girls lit a spark in me. A creative fire that’s never really gone out.

And then before that, there were the fridge cocktails. My friend Chad and I took mad science to a culinary level, mixing every drinkable item we could find into what can only be described as abominations. Orange juice, pickle brine, chocolate milk, Sprite—everything was fair game. We sipped them like we were sommeliers of chaos. The blends were almost always terrible, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was the act of mixing—the alchemy of it all.

Then came Gary and his banana blunts. He lived next door and had his own ritual: drying banana leaves, rolling them in other banana leaves, and smoking them like he was sipping secrets from a smoky vine. He had a stance too—leaned in like he was whispering to the thing. Naturally, I tried it. Not for the buzz, but for the ritual. For the process. I was hooked on that feeling of doing something sacred with plants.

Somewhere in between fridge brews and banana smoke, I also fell in love with food. My earliest memories of food, were small moments—TV nights with my parents, our favorite snacks spread out like a casual banquet. Later, my aunt and uncle started taking me to restaurants where I tried things most kids my age would’ve flat-out refused. No kid’s menu. Just “try this.” And I did. Happily. Still, I didn’t start cooking until I was around 17. I wanted to make something for my family, and it unlocked a whole new creative energy. Then I moved out at 19 and got my first place with roommates. We’d take turns making dinner, and I took that as permission to go wild. I started with strange sandwiches, then got into pasta, sauces, and spice combos. Some were hits. Some were disasters. But all of them taught me something. it wasn’t just about eating—it was all about the art of blending.

By this time, my love for ethnobotanicals was in full bloom. I was collecting herbs, steeping them solo, mixing them with intention. I was curious about their cultural uses, their flavors, their energies. It was ritual, chemistry, and storytelling all in one.

Then one day, I was sipping tea and reading the box—just something to do while waiting for the kettle to cool—and I saw the words “About the Blend Master.” Something about that title hit me square in the chest. it felt ancient, mystical. Like something out of a storybook. A person who doesn’t just make tea, but conjures it. Designs it. Shapes the experience. A Blend Master wasn’t just a job—it was a calling. Of course, at the time, I laughed it off. Sounded too dreamy. Too far-fetched.But the thought stuck with me. For years, I found myself circling back to it. Collecting herbs again. Writing notes. Trying new combinations. Remembering the the potions in the fridge, the banana rituals, the late-night cooking sessions with roommates, the flavors of my childhood. All of it—seemingly random, totally magical—was pointing me in one direction.

And here I am now. Somewhere between a scientist and an artist and a cook, a dreamer and a flavor-chemist. Blending tea that tells stories. That heals. That plays. So no, I never fit into one of those tidy little boxes on the fifth-grade sheet.

I just blended my own.

-The Garden Thief-

1 Teaspoon of Bee Balm Petals (Monarda fistulosa)

1 Teaspoon of Echinacea Petals (Echinacea purpurea)

1 1/2 Teaspoons of Yarrow Flowers (Achillea millefolium)

1 Teaspoon of Chamomile Flowers (Matricaria chamomilla)

1 Tablespoon of Pineapple Sage Leaves (Salvia elegans)

1/2 Teaspoon of Pineapple Mint (Mentha sauveolens)

Brewing instructions:

*if you happen to be gathering these botanicals fresh, allow them to dry before you brew.

if you are using a tea infuser:

1. Pack herbs in infuser and place in mug.

2. Boil water in a small pot.

3. Pour boiling water into the mug with the tea-filled infuser in it.

4. Let steep covered for 15 minutes.

5. Add your favorite sweetener. for this one I like a little boney or beet sugar.

6. Oh and enjoy!