Ember

Held in the smoldering aftermath of one of the year’s largest wildfires, Ember was a ceremonial tea party rooted in transformation. Guests open to a vulnerable conversation discovered their invitations tucked into self-help books in local libraries and bookstores, then followed directions from a complete stranger to arrive—an hour outside of town—in the middle of a ghostly, burned forest.

There, among the charred trees of the Pioneer Fire near Lowman, Idaho, they gathered for tea in handmade cups that resembled blackened wood, their glowing orange interiors flickering like the last sparks of a fire. Each course carried the theme: black sesame mochi with bright citrus centers, a cake that looked like a charred log baked with black cocoa and filled with a luscious rosehip and whisky filling, all colored naturally in ash tones.

But Ember was more than aesthetic—it was a ritual of choice. Embers represent what still lives beneath the surface. Each guest was invited to consider what they were ready to rekindle, and what they were prepared to let go. Together, we explored our embers together, choosing whether to bury and release them, or whether to fan them back into flame. We shared tea, reflection, and an afternoon of quiet reckoning in a landscape stripped bare—and ready for rebirth.