Spring. Seventeen-year cicadas sing from the treetops as the last drop of coffee finds its way through the filter and into the pot. The porch is warm, the first sip is floral as the daffodils blooming with their yellow, gold flair just feet away. A smooth, lingering sweetness follows -- some type of berry. Blueberry? Perhaps. Strawberry? Yes, strawberry, just like the one they plucked from their garden to test its ripeness. To think, a coffee seed grown thousands of miles away could taste so much like their own backyard. Incredible.