Wow.... your illustrations are absolutely gorgeous. That Folger’s can! How funny though that shocking first taste. This is such a beautiful illustrated essay. Looking forward to the other installments.
Thank you, Cheryl! I especially enjoyed working on the Folger's can for this essay, as it holds so much nostalgia for me from childhood, so I love that it jumped out for you and Amy here as well :)
Thank you so much, Amy! I'm so happy to hear you enjoyed this. By the way, I just had a chance to check out your substack and can't wait to follow along your own creative adventures. I especially love what you say about creating in the margins of your days -- that's exactly what I've been learning to do as a new mom these past couple of years, so I'm very excited to read more :) Here's to illustrated newsletters! 🎨🤍✨
The evocative artist Candace evokes, and having evoked, moves on. Nor all my Piety nor Wit Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line, Nor all my Tears wash out a Word of it when I am evoked.
My first memory of the smell of the Devil’s brew was early mornings when my grandfather was on his way out the door for work.
I’ve enjoyed it with Bedouins in the desert, where coffee was more of a syrup than a beverage. I have enjoyed it chewy strong in Ethiopia and and in fact, any number of other places around the world where coffee is not timid.
I’ve enjoyed it with my old guy after I warned that “it doesn’t take much water to make good coffee.” I also learned by hard experience that Nescafé in packets is a different species from actual coffee.
But I was told, and believed, that I could never fully trust anyone who drank airline coffee or who ate those weapons grade croissants.
A person must set certain boundaries in life for the sake of decency.
Switter, your comment makes me want to put together a collaborative project on coffee, just so I can illustrate your story of sharing coffee with Bedouins in the desert -- I felt transported just reading about it, and I'd also love the chance to experience a coffee ceremony in Ethiopia one day. As always, thank you for sharing about so many fascinating moments and places with us 🙏
When my son was still in elementary school (he’s 28 now) there was an international foods night event that we attended. This weathered looking old man there who had a table where he offered Turkish coffee. It was more like syrup and he gave it out in tiny cups. I drank one and loved it.We went home and after getting him to bed I started getting a few chores done. I then went back out grocery shopping. I came back and continued tackling chores. Finally at about 2:30 in the morning I felt the energy start to fade and got myself in bed. I didn’t associate the tiny cup with my unusual surge in energy until the next day. I have yet to find a coffee that had the same effect.
I began drinking coffee in high school because of the aroma my mothers coffee as it filled our small house. I always took a bit of milk and too much sugar. I still love to see the magical cloud of creamer swirling in it then transform black coffee into that beautiful light brown mixture.
I, too, trace my love of coffee back to my dad. In high school, some mornings I'd awaken a little bit early and find him still seated at the kitchen table, drinking his coffee (a little milk, a little sugar) and doing his devotional. Eventually, I started to join him, grabbing the clear glass mug from the cupboard - I liked the way the light caught the dark liquid - and filling it half full. I started black and drink it that way still, sipping slowly. My cup is usually more than half full these days, but the taste brings me back to those early mornings with my dad.
Sara, thank you so much for your comment, and for sharing the story of your own love of coffee. I'm so struck by how vivid your memories are of all those mornings with your dad, especially how the light would catch the coffee in your clear mug -- that's beautiful to picture. I'm so glad this piece could take you back to that time 🤍
Ha! So sorry to lead you astray at the start, Cheryl :) But if you're a fellow tea lover, you might enjoy the first illustrated essay I ever created, and the essay that this piece is a kind of sequel to: https://dandelionseeds.substack.com/p/home-is-a-cup-of-tea
Thank you so much for reading, Sharon, and for your kind words. Of all my illustrated essays, this one holds the most nostalgia for me, so I love that it brought up good memories for you as well 😊
Yay! So happy to hear this, Marisa -- both about "Home is a Cup of Tea," and that you're looking forward to the rest of this essay as well 😊 Thank you for reading and saying hello!
Thank you so much, Ellen! As I just shared with Cheryl above, I especially enjoyed working on the Folger's can, as it holds so much nostalgia for me from childhood, so I love hearing that it was one of your favorites from this essay as well 😊
Thank you so much for your beautiful words, Marianne -- it makes me really happy to hear that this piece felt like an invitation to slow down and pause in your day 🤍
I'm so happy you enjoyed this, Kim. By the way, I love the name of your substack (of course 😊) and am off to check it out now, it's lovely to connect with you here! ✨
Sawdust dreams... made me choke up a bit. My dad was also incredibly talented in the workshop so my early childhood was filled with the scent of sawdust and coffee. He wanted to be a writer more than he wanted to work with his hands and in the end, he achieved neither. I wasn’t in his life dreams, so the attempted connections early on were futile. Still, every kid keeps trying.... anyway, your essay brought an incredibly strong scent of freshly sawn wood to my noggin...
Gérard, I'm so moved by your comment, and especially by the two words you began it with -- "Sawdust dreams," what a poignant phrase. It's fascinating to hear that the scents of sawdust and coffee also bring up so much for you, both in good and hard ways, and please know I really appreciate you taking the time to share about your dad here 🙏
A lovely and nostalgic story. There is just something about coffee for me too. Yes, I find it delicious. But more than that, I find the way that the practice of brewing it every morning brings me closer to myself, and the way it brings people together in different ways, to be like a prayer.
Kaitlyn, I love your comment so much I wish I could like it twice :)
What you wrote about how preparing your coffee every morning brings you closer to yourself rings so true for me -- one of the biggest things I love about coffee (and tea as well!) is how it is such a grounding ritual in our days. And then there's what you said here: "and the way it brings people together in different ways, to be like a prayer." That is such a beautiful thought, and I know I'll be thinking of your words the next time I make coffee for friends or family.
Thank you so much for reading, and for giving us so much to think about as well ☕🤍
Wow.... your illustrations are absolutely gorgeous. That Folger’s can! How funny though that shocking first taste. This is such a beautiful illustrated essay. Looking forward to the other installments.
I agree. That can stood out. Amazing artwork.
Thank you, Cheryl! I especially enjoyed working on the Folger's can for this essay, as it holds so much nostalgia for me from childhood, so I love that it jumped out for you and Amy here as well :)
Thank you so much, Amy! I'm so happy to hear you enjoyed this. By the way, I just had a chance to check out your substack and can't wait to follow along your own creative adventures. I especially love what you say about creating in the margins of your days -- that's exactly what I've been learning to do as a new mom these past couple of years, so I'm very excited to read more :) Here's to illustrated newsletters! 🎨🤍✨
The evocative artist Candace evokes, and having evoked, moves on. Nor all my Piety nor Wit Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line, Nor all my Tears wash out a Word of it when I am evoked.
My first memory of the smell of the Devil’s brew was early mornings when my grandfather was on his way out the door for work.
I’ve enjoyed it with Bedouins in the desert, where coffee was more of a syrup than a beverage. I have enjoyed it chewy strong in Ethiopia and and in fact, any number of other places around the world where coffee is not timid.
I’ve enjoyed it with my old guy after I warned that “it doesn’t take much water to make good coffee.” I also learned by hard experience that Nescafé in packets is a different species from actual coffee.
But I was told, and believed, that I could never fully trust anyone who drank airline coffee or who ate those weapons grade croissants.
A person must set certain boundaries in life for the sake of decency.
Switter, your comment makes me want to put together a collaborative project on coffee, just so I can illustrate your story of sharing coffee with Bedouins in the desert -- I felt transported just reading about it, and I'd also love the chance to experience a coffee ceremony in Ethiopia one day. As always, thank you for sharing about so many fascinating moments and places with us 🙏
When my son was still in elementary school (he’s 28 now) there was an international foods night event that we attended. This weathered looking old man there who had a table where he offered Turkish coffee. It was more like syrup and he gave it out in tiny cups. I drank one and loved it.We went home and after getting him to bed I started getting a few chores done. I then went back out grocery shopping. I came back and continued tackling chores. Finally at about 2:30 in the morning I felt the energy start to fade and got myself in bed. I didn’t associate the tiny cup with my unusual surge in energy until the next day. I have yet to find a coffee that had the same effect.
I began drinking coffee in high school because of the aroma my mothers coffee as it filled our small house. I always took a bit of milk and too much sugar. I still love to see the magical cloud of creamer swirling in it then transform black coffee into that beautiful light brown mixture.
I still love the scent of freshly brewed coffee.
Thanks for the prompt to walk down memory lane.🥰
I’d do it in a heartbeat, Candace.
You person are of most kindness!
I, too, trace my love of coffee back to my dad. In high school, some mornings I'd awaken a little bit early and find him still seated at the kitchen table, drinking his coffee (a little milk, a little sugar) and doing his devotional. Eventually, I started to join him, grabbing the clear glass mug from the cupboard - I liked the way the light caught the dark liquid - and filling it half full. I started black and drink it that way still, sipping slowly. My cup is usually more than half full these days, but the taste brings me back to those early mornings with my dad.
Sara, thank you so much for your comment, and for sharing the story of your own love of coffee. I'm so struck by how vivid your memories are of all those mornings with your dad, especially how the light would catch the coffee in your clear mug -- that's beautiful to picture. I'm so glad this piece could take you back to that time 🤍
I was hooked when you started taking about tea! Then it changed to coffee. Scroll up. Oh. That’s the title. Laughing at self.
Ha! So sorry to lead you astray at the start, Cheryl :) But if you're a fellow tea lover, you might enjoy the first illustrated essay I ever created, and the essay that this piece is a kind of sequel to: https://dandelionseeds.substack.com/p/home-is-a-cup-of-tea
This was lovely, and even though I don’t drink coffee, it still brings up warm memories as well. Thank you for sharing yours.
Thank you so much for reading, Sharon, and for your kind words. Of all my illustrated essays, this one holds the most nostalgia for me, so I love that it brought up good memories for you as well 😊
Oh, I cannot wait for the rest of this series! Home is a cup of tea is a lifelong fave.
Yay! So happy to hear this, Marisa -- both about "Home is a Cup of Tea," and that you're looking forward to the rest of this essay as well 😊 Thank you for reading and saying hello!
I just loved this. Beautiful.
Thank you, Gabrielle! 🤍
Love the Folgers can. Always love your beautiful art Candace!
Thank you so much, Ellen! As I just shared with Cheryl above, I especially enjoyed working on the Folger's can, as it holds so much nostalgia for me from childhood, so I love hearing that it was one of your favorites from this essay as well 😊
Plus favorite old cans become great paintbrush holders, etc. : )
Yes!! That's the best part about them 😍
Just finished a community ed class here in Boise on coffee tasting, growing and processing. You would have loved it!
Ahh that sounds fantastic. A couple of years ago, I had the chance to write a pocket-sized book about coffee (https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/659608/stuff-every-coffee-lover-should-know-by-candace-rose-rardon/) and loved taking a deep dive into how it's grown and processed, so I definitely would've enjoyed that class 😊 Thanks so much for reading and saying hello!
So lovely. So happy I slowed down and read this. Thank you.
Thank you so much for your beautiful words, Marianne -- it makes me really happy to hear that this piece felt like an invitation to slow down and pause in your day 🤍
A perfect telling of so many loves.
I'm so happy you enjoyed this, Kim. By the way, I love the name of your substack (of course 😊) and am off to check it out now, it's lovely to connect with you here! ✨
Sawdust dreams... made me choke up a bit. My dad was also incredibly talented in the workshop so my early childhood was filled with the scent of sawdust and coffee. He wanted to be a writer more than he wanted to work with his hands and in the end, he achieved neither. I wasn’t in his life dreams, so the attempted connections early on were futile. Still, every kid keeps trying.... anyway, your essay brought an incredibly strong scent of freshly sawn wood to my noggin...
Gérard, I'm so moved by your comment, and especially by the two words you began it with -- "Sawdust dreams," what a poignant phrase. It's fascinating to hear that the scents of sawdust and coffee also bring up so much for you, both in good and hard ways, and please know I really appreciate you taking the time to share about your dad here 🙏
A lovely and nostalgic story. There is just something about coffee for me too. Yes, I find it delicious. But more than that, I find the way that the practice of brewing it every morning brings me closer to myself, and the way it brings people together in different ways, to be like a prayer.
Kaitlyn, I love your comment so much I wish I could like it twice :)
What you wrote about how preparing your coffee every morning brings you closer to yourself rings so true for me -- one of the biggest things I love about coffee (and tea as well!) is how it is such a grounding ritual in our days. And then there's what you said here: "and the way it brings people together in different ways, to be like a prayer." That is such a beautiful thought, and I know I'll be thinking of your words the next time I make coffee for friends or family.
Thank you so much for reading, and for giving us so much to think about as well ☕🤍
It’s so lovely to be on this journey with you. For me, it’s tea and tea only!
Thank you so much, Mary! I'm so glad you're on this journey as well, and I can't wait to share the next part of the story with you next week 🤍
Oh my, I am Surprised that comment went through. My Substack has not been “percolating” lol
Lately. I did enjoy your story so, with my first cup of Folgers.
Beautiful story
Thank you so much, Tinabeth. I loved hearing that you enjoyed this with a cup of Folgers -- how perfect! ☕🤍