February’s over; collective misery can stand down. March tiptoes in with longer light, thawing air, and the promise of green. Shake off the winter slump with hammocks, brackets, grills, long walks, and, above all, absurd amounts of tea—rooibos, herbal, black, green—each cup nudging you closer to spring.

Gin-soaked Britain, facing an industrial age with a hangover, discovers tea: cheap, hot, disciplined salvation in a cup. Borrowing China’s sober wisdom, Temperance Halls replace taverns; vast boilers roar, choirs swell, pledges rise. Christmas gatherings glow with trees, toys, sermons, steam. Boisterousness fades; heartfelt merriment, minus “after consequences,” prevails.