April has never been simple for me.

It carries grief and joy in the same breath — the anniversary of losing my mother, and the birthday of my eldest son, both arriving in the same month, in the same light. April asks you to hold both at once. The loss and the beginning. The person who left and the person who arrived. Over time you learn that this is not a contradiction. It is just what April is - the end of one season and the beginning of another. 

And then there is the month itself. The way Portland wakes up slowly, the hills going green almost overnight, the rain that smells like soil and new growth. The first day warm enough for shorts but cool enough for a jacket, when the breeze moves through your hair and the sun warms your skin. The flowers and cherry blossoms opening on every street. The smell of grass after rain. The days stretching longer, unhurried, with the first whisper of summer somewhere on the other side of all of it.

This collection is built from that April. Five cookies for the month that holds grief and hope and new life all at once. For the people we carry with us into spring. For the mornings that smell like something is beginning.

First Bloom. Available now, while the season lasts.