Art by Brooklynn Bourdeau

This is a "Tasting," a short-short story inspired by a tea I made at my tea company. This particular one is for the "Hunt & Gather," a black currant black tea. I suggest ordering a little bag of the tea to drink while reading the story, but I'm certainly not biased in this matter.

The snow hasn’t fallen for a couple days. The Gatherers have come to you and said they need berries, but you’ve never been out on your own. You’ve dreamed of being a hunter most of your life, but your keen perception has been noticed by the Gatherers long before the Hunters. Your partner told you it was safer, gathering. Your parents agreed. And so, you take the role.

While it hasn’t snowed, the air is still bitter and cold. You wrap up in leathers and furs to keep warm, grabbing your baskets and weapon by instinct, and finally wrapping a fine weasel pelt around your face. A gift from your partner for being with them for years now. They’re a Hunter, but they’re also a good few years older than you. More experience under their belt.

You’ve never even been given the opportunity to provide for the tribe. Too weak to participate in the physical activities, no spiritual energy for shamanism, and lacking perception for gathering. From birth, you’ve been unable to distinguish certain colors, and it’s been an uphill battle from there. But finally, through a rite of passage, you’ve taught yourself to find berries, which leaves & roots are good, and which plants to avoid. And all without color.

This is your first test. Out in the wilderness, on your own. Normally, there’s gathering parties, but there’s a ceremony today. You’ve made it painfully obvious you care not for the ancient shaman rituals, so they’ve finally stopped inviting you. This didn’t make your parents terribly happy, but you feel better for it, in the long run. It gives you days like this to really find yourself and relax in the wilderness.

Kilometers out from the village, you find a patch of berries. Black currants at that. Fantastic! You go to town on the bush. Based on one taste, you can tell you found them on exactly the right day. They’re ripe, full of flavor, so juicy and delicious. After twenty or so minutes, the bush is bare, and your basket is a third full already. You’ve got this in the bag. No problem.

You stop along the trail you’re blazing to pick juniper berries. A tough harvest, as the spiky needles of the juniper tree poke and prod your fingers, but you hold fast, pick the berries. They taste good, surprisingly. Too early in the season for juniper, but these ones came out right. All the rest of the juniper on the path is way too early for picking. Curious.

Another two kilometers out, you find the jackpot. A beehive. Honey. Man, the tribe is gonna love you for this one. It’s active, there’s still bees buzzing about, so you haul a stick up, whip it around, and smash that hive into chunks. You know what’s coming next, so you run. There was a stream a while back, so you high-tail it for it. You don’t look over your shoulder, they’re coming, you know they are.

The stream is in sight, and your head turns to see who follows. Alas, no bees. They gave up the chase. But another threat calls your name behind you. A doe elk stands in the stream behind you, drinking calmly.

It’s a good thing you brought your atlatl. You draw the short knobby stick from your belt, and haul a spear from your hip-quiver. Only one shot. You can make it. They’ll love you. A hunter and a gatherer? You have berries, you’ll have honey soon, and an elk? You can’t lose! Just hit it. Right in the heart. There won’t be a second chance, you miss, it’s gone.

You draw the spear up, nock it into the atlatl, and aim carefully. Everything’s drawn up to this point. This is the moment. It’s comes down to this. This moment. Aim. Careful.

You launch the spear. It sails through the air straight at the elk. You’ve trained so much with this, it’s your specialty. You begged to be a hunter all your life, training with this weapon. But you lost every test, missing the targets repeatedly. They never let you into the Hunters, ‘cause your aim was always off.

They were right.

The spear soars under the elk, and it leaps, running into the woods, never to be seen again. Sighing defeatedly, you walk back slowly to the honey. At least you have that. No one can take this victory from you. No one.

Except a puma.

Through the trees, you catch sight of a puma crouched down, burying its face in the sweet honey of the hives. It’s your honey, dang it, but… you’re smarter than that. There’s no fighting off a puma. That’s not a fight you’ll win. You slink away silently, back towards the village. You pick some more currants you find on your way back, but it feels hollow. Empty.

You had your chance for glory, and you lost it. Now they’ll never respect you.

But as you return, you’re greeted and welcomed, and the elders take the berries you harvested, thanking you for your hard work. Your partner massages your hands, pricked and prodded by harsh needles.

You complain that you missed an elk, and you lost your honey. You almost had them, and in the excitement, the rush, you lost them both. You’re not a hunter, you just don’t have the skills.

They comfort you, telling you you completed the task you were given perfectly. You were asked for berries, and you got them in full. They can make the infusion they wanted for the feast next week. No one expected you to get honey or meat, so no one can look down on you for not getting them.

Besides, you managed to find a batch of juniper out of season that were perfect. That’s not an easy feat! You smile as you share a small bag of juniper berries you set aside for yourself. The two of your gorge yourselves on the rich, sweet berries.

Yeah. You did good.