The wind blows the blossoms in the garden. The monk breathes in. The air is crisp; the world is good. The only thing missing is some tea. Alas, the tea tree branches are too high and the mountain face is too steep. He stops in thought. His monkey, however, knowing his master wants tea, climbs the mountain face, picks the leaves, and brings them to the monk. And the tea was so delicious, other people began training their monkeys to pick it. So the legend goes.

The lovely folks who package the tea for us say: “Nowadays the practice of monkeys picking tea has all but died out, except in one small remote village where they still continue this remarkable tradition. No monkeys are harmed or mistreated in order for us to bring this rare brew to you!”