Twice a year, the garden wakes up.
I know that sounds dramatic—it's not as if the bushes are sleeping the rest of the time. There's always work to do: pruning, weeding, tending. But the flush is different. The flush is when everything accelerates.
First flush comes after the dry season, usually in March. The bushes have been holding back, conserving, and then suddenly the rains arrive and every plant in the garden seems to exhale at once. New shoots everywhere. Bright green against the darker mature leaves. The pluckers can barely keep up.
Second flush is my favourite. June, July—the heart of monsoon season. Everything is soaked. The paths between rows turn to mud. The air is so humid that you're damp before you've walked ten steps. And the tea? The tea is extraordinary.
Something about the rain and the warmth and the long days of filtered light—it concentrates the flavour. Second flush Assam has this depth, this malty sweetness, that you just can't get any other time of year. It's the tea that built Assam's reputation.
I remember my father telling me, years ago, that you can't rush a flush. The bushes will give you their best when they're ready, not when you need them to. It's a lesson that applies to most things, probably.
We're in second flush season now. The garden is at its most alive, the processing shed is running constantly, and every batch that comes through reminds me why this is the tea people remember. The one that sets the standard.
If you're trying our tea for the first time, this is the moment. This is us at our best.