I am a fourth-generation tea drinker on my mother's side. Since I can't comment on the quality of tea available to generations past, I am counting them as tea drinkers because the kettle was always on and no family crisis or family celebration could be acknowleded without a pot of tea.
I never met Morgianna, my great-grandmother, but I have my mother's tales of her sending the grandchildren out to pick strawberries in the garden so that they could have them at tea.
Nettie, my grandmother, had a kettle that could make tea for a small army, and we sat at her kitchen table and drank pot after pot of tea. During The War (and she always capitalized it when she spoke. WWII.) tea was scarce, and fresh milk was more scarce. SHe and my mother became accustomed to tinned milk (Evaporated, not condensed) which they drank out of habit for years after. That's also when they became proficient at re-steeping every bit of good out of their tea leaves.
When I was a little girl, I remember the tinned milk. I don't remember when my mother, Jannie, stopped using it, maybe in the early 1960s. I also remember snuggling up on her lap and enjoying the rich fragrance of her tea. I used to tell her that it 'smelled like a mother.'
Tea bags drifted in and out of favor in my mother's house. They were convenient, but there was nothing like a good pot of Indian or Ceylon tea. I have my mother's tea infusers, even though I don't use them, I saved them for the good memories.
It has been a little over a year since my mother crossed over. Drinking tea is an ongoing celebration of her memory.
I raise my cup of genmaicha.