Blue Pool

Did you know most languages develop a word for “blue” last? That’s because most of the blues that surround us—the sky, the sea—can’t be held in your hands. Unlike red berries or yellow ochre, blue rarely exists in a form we can touch. It’s a color of distance, of atmosphere, of mystery. That’s what makes it so magical when we do find it: the cracked shell of a robin’s egg, the shimmer of a butterfly’s wing, the glint of a bluebird in flight.

This event was a celebration of that elusive magic.

On Mother’s Day, I hiked 50 pounds of handmade glass and ceramic artwork into the Oregon wilderness to one of the Pacific Northwest’s most astounding hidden wonders: the Tamolitch Blue Pool. You walk around a mossy bend and there it is—a deep, sapphire basin glowing with an impossible brightness. Its vivid hue doesn’t come from pigment, but from light itself—depth and clarity bending wavelengths into something startling and rare.

Instead of RSVPs, I hid large blue eggs along the trail. Hikers who found them were invited to a surprise cliffside picnic overlooking the water, where they dined on naturally blue foods: dark blueberry cake, vivid blue iced tea, all surrounded by artwork inspired by the rarest blues of the Northwest: the tiny blue butterflies that live in the mountains, and the shimmer of blue birds’ wings.

It was a celebration of wonder in its purest form—a gift of color, sky, and spring, offered to those willing to look closely.