Some tea plants in Japan are over three hundred years old. A younger plant still takes three to five years to produce viable harvests. From there, everything depends on timing.

The Japanese use the word shun (旬) to describe this. It means the perfect moment when something is at its peak—when a persimmon is just ripe enough, when a fish is at its most flavourful, when the first tea leaves of the year are at their absolute best. 

That’s why timing is everything in Japanese tea farming. Pick too early, and you miss out on flavour. Pick too late, and you’ve lost the delicate balance that makes first-harvest tea so prized. In tea, this is especially important during the first flush, when the balance of compounds is at its most refined.

Spring yields the most delicate harvest. Summer brings stronger, more bitter leaves. Autumn is a transitional season — some farms harvest, others skip it. Winter has no harvest; it’s a dormant phase. But every season is active in its own way, and each one leaves a clear signature on the final product.

Just like the seasons, tea farming is changing. Climate shifts are nudging harvest dates earlier. Warmer winters mean the plants wake up too soon, and sudden cold snaps damage fragile buds. 

A field that used to be perfectly timed for harvest in mid-April may now see its best leaves emerging weeks earlier, throwing off centuries-old rhythms. At the same time, mechanized harvesting is replacing hand-picking in many regions. That makes things faster, but lowers selectivity — and with it, quality.

In the sections that follow, we’ll take a closer look at what happens during each season in a Japanese tea field—how the plants grow, how farmers respond, and how the changing climate is reshaping an ancient tradition.

Spring 

The first flush, or ichibancha, represents the most delicate, nutrient-rich leaves of the year. It requires total attention—on the weather, on the soil temperature, on the color of the bud.

Producers face making micro-decisions based on tea terroir and actual data: frost forecasts, rainfall timing, and the biological indicators of the plant itself. During our sourcing trip we get the honour to observe how they pay meticulous attention to frost warnings, soil temperature, bud color – while constantly being in the field. 

Thermometers are set into the soil. Frost cloths are rolled out at night, then pulled back before sun exposure. Fields are pruned by hand to control canopy height and light penetration. Shading nets are installed with exact timing—too early, and you risk mold. Too late, and you lose sweetness.

For comparison, think of Beaujolais Nouveau. In wine, this young release marks a cultural moment—but also showcases a winemaker’s agility. In tea, the first flush is similar. It announces the beginning of the season and sets the tone for the year—commercially, agriculturally, and sensorially.

If one prefers clarity, restraint, and depth without heaviness—they’ll love first flush teas. These early leaves have the highest levels of L-theanine and amino acids, and less of the compounds that cause bitterness. They’re layered but calm. Rich, but not overpowering.

The top fields—especially in Kyoto, Kagoshima, and Shizuoka—are harvested by hand. Each picker selects only the bud and two youngest leaves. Harvesting anything beyond that introduces fibrous leaf matter, which has the risk of impacting quality.

Summer 

By June, the tea plants enter a different phase. The nibancha, or ‘second flush’ emerges. L-theanine levels fall. Catechins rise. Bitterness increases.

Because growth is rapid, a typical day in the field becomes longer. Farmers begin early to weed, thin rows, and check for leaf toughness. Pruning tools come out again to shape new growth. Shade nets are removed to let plants recover. It's also when decisions must be made: harvest this flush—or let it go.

Some farms produce a bold, tannic summer tea—used for blending. Producers who specialize in higher grade teas don’t harvest the second time. This choice shapes not only the field, but the entire year’s economy. A skipped flush is a financial risk. But for those who protect the soil, the roots, and the rhythm—it’s a long-term investment in flavour, longevity and distinction.

Climate shifts make this decision harder. With warmer summers, tea plants grow faster, but the leaves become fibrous. Harsh sunlight can bleach chlorophyll and degrade quality. 

Autumn

After the energy-expending flushes of spring and early summer, the plant must rebuild. This means restoring field balance and preparing for the next cycle.

A day in autumn might mean taking soil pH readings at dawn, pruning under morning fog, and reworking irrigation before sunset. Some farmers leave entire rows untouched to let the roots rest and recover.

We only work with estates that avoid herbicides. Even weeks after harvest, you’ll often see farmers hand-weeding—protecting the root zone from chemical contamination. I personally find joy in getting closer to the ground and working with the naked eye – and it’s the reason why our sourcing trips last several weeks after harvest. 

While industrial farms may machine-harvest these for roasting or bottled products, precision growers do not. Instead, they manage their land like a long-term investment. 

Autumn is when key decisions are made: which rows to rest, which cultivars to replant, and whether organic practices are sufficient in balancing microbial soil activity.

Winter

From November to March, tea plants enter dormancy. The fields are bare. But the silence is not empty. It is full of preparation.

Roots retreat deeper into the soil, storing starches. Enzymatic activity slows. The plant conserves. Our partners spend winter preparing: sending soil samples to labs, repairing tools, cleaning processing spaces

There is no harvest in winter. But there is reflection. This is when mistakes are studied, when knowledge is passed down, and when tea is not grown, but understood.

Our partners and mentors send soil samples to labs, repair tools, and clean processing spaces. In the mornings, they review data and notes from the year. In the evenings, they roast and refine leftover leaves. In colder regions like Uji, they welcome the snow—it helps build resilience and adds depth to the spring harvest.

In colder regions like Uji, a true winter—one with snow, frost, and chill—leads to a sweeter, more complex spring. The plant, stressed gently by cold, builds resilience. It’s a quiet dialogue between leaf and land, one that no machine can replicate.

The tea farming cycle

Today, fewer than one percent of Japan’s tea farms focus on single-origin, first-flush harvests. Of those, only a fraction still rely on hand-picking. And even within that group, only a handful operate at the level of precision required to produce competition-grade tea.

These numbers are meant to remind us that tea is not mass production—it is craft. The kind that exists at the edge of agriculture, chemistry, and culture.

In a world that moves faster every season, the discipline to wait, observe, and act at exactly the right time is more than just a skill. It’s a philosophy — and one that we’re beholden to embody.

Thank you, as ever, for reading till the end.