I grew up playing on three hundred acres of red dirt in the Ozark Mountains; hollering could be heard in those hills. That confine of hollows and fields, cloistered by barbed wire and limestone bluffs, filled with forgotten fox traps, drinking springs, and tumbledown log cabins, was our playground.

The Philip boys, four of us, with a sister in tow, would give our rough destination to Mama—back forty, Watson’s cabin, bluffs, or something similar—and then disappear, armed to the teeth with air rifles, cow pies, horse apples, and anything else that could serve as a weapon, or projectile. We foraged, stalked, shot, and ran well into the end of the day in our familiar spots: a bluff top for prickly pear cactus fruit, the spring for a drink behind Watson’s abandoned cabin, or an ancient mint patch, where we could pack leaves behind our lips and spit until our cheeks caved in.

As we grew, we learned, and sassafras root was quickly a prize. Easily identified, the small trees with three leaves, all different, could be unearthed. The root was quickly harvested from the trunk, and the bounty would later be pulled from a pocket for weeks of sniffing or would be dried and made into a treat of root beer tea. For me, this flavor will always be a potent potion that can transport me through space and time.

The Kvassmiche begins with a brew called kvass, a fermented drink common in Eastern Europe, similar in some aspects to kombucha. Warm water is combined with sourdough culture, fresh apples, deeply toasted old bread, and sugar. I add sassafras, fresh ginger, star anise, and vanilla beans to this base and let the mixture work. In 12 to 18 hours the ferment is active and effervescent. I strain the kvass and use it at 75 percent of total hydration in this large miche. The earth notes of whole wheat—mineral, tar, coffee, and chocolate—marry well with the kvass tones, which present as aromatic but not aggressive and transport the sniffer to that sassafras place more easily reached with miles than years.