Last month, my team and I journeyed to Fuding in Fujian to visit our dear friend Qing Ge (青哥), a third-generation white tea farmer whose teas we love. His grandparents once harvested teas right outside their home, a traditional brick house near Diantou Town (點頭鎮) now lovingly restored by his father so that he could still process teas in small batches for fun.

April’s first flush (頭採) production was in full swing as we ascended the mountains to Qing Ge’s factory, a big step up from his father’s small production. Freshly picked leaves lay gently scattered on the ground for wilting (萎凋) while Qing Ge invited us to try our luck at plucking tealeaves. We managed a meagre three quarters of a basket amongst the three of us, while Qing Ge’s mother single-handedly picked a full basket in half the time.

Next we were whisked away to his tea pressing facility. It was an eye opener to say the least. Hunky men worked at lighting speed and with unfaltering precision to steam, press and wrap the cakes. Each one came out looking exactly the same as the one before. I tried my hands at one, only to be rejected politely by Qing Ge and my tea cake thrown back into the pile to start its life cycle again.

Despite all the fun we had with Qing Ge, the part of the trip that left an indelible mark on my memory was nevertheless the Fuding Raw Tea Trade Market.

It was about 5pm and market was bustling with life. At the entrance, freshly harvested tealeaves lay piled up in small mountains.

Walking a little further ahead we start to see the real action, farmers carrying in their day’s harvest in baskets huddle around a buyer, trying to negotiate a good price. It was exhilarating to see at first, but I was slowly overcome with a sense of sadness. I remember an old man in a battered blue polo shirt carrying what must be tens of kilos of raw tea in baskets on his shoulder pole looking anxiously around for a buyer, his leathery skin darkened under years of tolling under the sun. Qing Ge told me that if he could not locate a buyer today, the teas would be considered “cooked” under its own weight and heat and deemed unusable. This whole day’s worth of work would have been for nothing. I saw quite a few elderly men and women like this during my brief visit, loitering around with baskets of tea in tow and a deep frown on their forehead.

I imagine what they would go home to at the end of a day like this, empty handed and perhaps with an equally empty stomach. Meanwhile, on the other side of the market, the tea mongers sat dealing behind desks, crunching numbers.

I hope what we are doing here at Plantation benefits the tea community in general and that the money trickles down to the people who need them the most, often the tea pickers. We try to do that with these visits and understanding how our suppliers work. With Qing Ge, we know that their tea comes directly harvested by family members. However, I also know that no all brands manage to do this, and in fact most purchase from a middleman. This is not a call to boycott big brands, but merely a call for us all to think a bit more about where our teas and food stuffs come from. When you go far enough down the line, they all come eventually from a farmer whose hands are perhaps equally as leathery and callused as the man in the blue polo shirt, waiting around for his luck.