History repeats itself, and to find any progress I have to look darn close. I could subtitle the whole thing Mr. B, the Tree and oh yeah, the Tea. Storytelling is still Treacherous. I am completely re-experiencing a blog post from 2016, and not of my own free will.
To refresh the memory, Mr. B is a crazy friend of other crazy friends, and he's manic again. Oh yes, he's been in the blog before. He is again staying up at a rural car junkyard owned by David, car mechanic. Summer texts...
 |
| Then. (2016) |
Me: "Have you talked to him, I am just trying to find out if his phone works!"
[Mr. B lost no fewer than 3 cell phones this summer.]
Ron: "B's called me at least 20 times in the last 24 hours! Just a bunch of crazy shit as usual! But no haven't talked to him! I really don't have anything to say at this point!"
---
Me: "Mr. B is doing ok, David checked on him. Lost his phone, I will try and go out Tuesday and maybe we can find it."
Greg: "Good 👍."
And,
Me: "Saw Mr. B. yesterday, jumped his battery, food/gas/beer. He tried to piss on my car. But he’s bathed, knows where phone is, motor home covered in porn so he seems fairly happy. Wants to come to Madison, I said you will visit “sometime soon.” Later in fall, eh? 😅🎄"
Greg: "🐸🦎🐰🦄🦙🐑🦊🧞♂️"
---
Me: "Hi, tell B. I dropped off his laundry, in white bucket, food in the bottom."
David: "He saw it, you can call him now we got him another phone. I forgot to give him your number. He was happy to see that and the food too."
 |
| Now. (2025) |
Everyone is growing weary of his smelly, wet piles. Both Mr. B and my silver maple tree in the backyard are about the same age, and with them, what grows up eventually comes back down. The tree is not having a very good year. The storm that flooded out Milwaukee on August 10 went through my backyard across the state first, lightning ripping out two huge tree limbs. My son cut up one, and a raccoon ran out of it. The other huge, broken branch stayed stuck up in the tree. Time to call in Branches tree service. I photographed them back in 2016 when they cut my tree the last time.
 |
| Then. (2016 Instagram post) |
Tree Guy: "Say...we were driving in here and suddenly remembered you. You gave us some tea, these hard disc things."
"Yeah, that sounds like me, all right. Did you like the tea?"
Tree Guy: "I don't exactly remember but the discs were cool."
"Oh, I can give you some more."
Tree Guy: "I wasn't asking, I didn't mean to--"
Me: "Oh it's ok, I have a tea blog and get sent lots of tea."
Tree Guy: "Yeah something about a blog."
I gave them a 2 gallon ziploc with Yunnan Sourcing's Drunk on Red, white2tea's A & P Red as well as a bag of 2017 raw white tea leaves which is probably stale, but never opened, ditto with a huge bag of Lapsang. I further foisted off a cigar-whiskey-scented 2016 Xiaguan raw tuo, no idea how I ended up with it.
And a check. I paid them $1600 to take those teas. They left me the huge, smelly wet pile of leaves and mulch. Because I am supposed to like smelly wet piles and photographic evidence is king, pic and it happened. They thoughtfully added in pine needles from another job, because fresh-cut silver maple smells like throw up.
To 100% complete the karmic revisit of the 2016 blog post, I must now try The Treachery of Storytelling 2, eh?
 |
| Treachery... |
Wasn't this like a $300 beeng? We don't discuss tea prices in my house. Only 200g. Class of tea unknown to market, yada yada. Of course my blog post is idiotic and didn't list the price. Because it doesn't matter. Stupid has no explanation, so why dress it up further with actual details. I remember thinking it is a nice tea. Nice enough that I decided to tin the beeng and not age it. Enough to keep it fragrant and alive. It's in with other non-agers, like the w2t 2015 Yiwu which was a really wet drinker tea anyway, and the 2015 Bosch which Marco G hotboxed, probably a good plan.
But what I really want to be able to do is age-budge a nasty compressed tuo, and not even pushing to visible mold affects them much. So why obliterate a nice floral tea unless it's just undrinkable and I'm not losing anything. Anyway. The Storytelling has browned some, just some oxidation on the surface. Smells nice and very green. Basically the tinning keeps it green. I popped off 5 grams.
Still has the floral opening but a touch incense which is probably the Bosch affecting it. I drank just before dinner in an empty stomach, because why not, and paid in body heat and sugar crash. My son's father Mr. Passport Bro is back from Hangzhou, he drank steep #2 and passed out, which he denied after waking up. I drank Steep 3 at 176 F (75 C), and it was insanely bitter. I don't remember this bitterness, but steep #4 with boiling kettle was better, moving from the fruity floral to more vegetal tomato vine.
 |
| Steep #4 |
Now I get the mid-steeps which is where this tea shines. I did #5 two days later and the leaves resumed beautifully with a powdered violet note, the way old cosmetics smell, like old Chanel blushes or your mom's Guerlain Meteorites.
But it's really, really green. Yeah I sorta screwed up. Brewing around the bitterness, I think how I should have put this in aging conditions. Only 200g, less now at least 10g, it was nice enough fresh so I didn't. It's not too late, but meh. I need to try and drink it. Body-wise, it's got the stomach heat and throat vapor, the brew is yiwu thick, it's like a Mansa. All the notes I like, floral veggies is what lingers. I can only reasonably do one brew a day, it really gives me jitters. Less is more when sick and old.
Otherwise, I'm drinking up older stuff, and running out of old tea. Bought Houde's cheap $100/kilo 2005 Dayi brick tea and I've been drinking that all summer. Seems to work to regular-diet the cheap tea and do the pricey dessert on a weekend. At 5 steeps, the lower grade large leaf Dayi is cashed. Ten steeps in, Storytelling still just getting started. Big difference. Both teas worth what the vendors charged.
Took me so many days to write this, that Son has completely dispatched the smelly wet pile of tree trimmings. My posts are slower now, but don't worry, it's just a different year.
