On a still summer evening, my retriever has her nose pressed against the screen door. Just outside, on the patio, a dehydrator is desiccating a load of chamomile blossoms. The aroma must be intoxicating to a sensitive nose. Come the deep winter, I will make a Coleman press thermos of tea from the dried blossoms and bring it to the desk where I am writing now, using the soothing tea to settle me in for an evening’s work. And the History Dog will follow me there, too, also enjoying the aroma.