A Reflection on Springtime for Mother’s Day

In the Pacific Northwest, spring unfolds slowly some years and rapidly other years. The hearty daffodil bulbs elongating their green stems and breaking through the soil stand the one of the first indicators of springtime in the Northwest. The cherry trees do not rush to blossom, but unfurl at a very calculated time, following patterns of weather and climate. The ground stays damp with rainfall, the plants stay very green and alive as they’re quenched with the constant drizzle. Light lingers a little longer each evening, inching its way toward summer. Everything surrounding us implores us, asks us kindly to take our time.

The springtime season celebrates novelty, the new colors dotting our landscapes. We trim our grass fervently, we see strawberry plants starting to flower. We celebrate Mother Nature and the extra minutes of daylight provided to us. We even have a day on the calendar to celebrate Motherhood in the springtime season. Whether you celebrate this day or navigate it with caution, it invites a pause. A moment to honor what has been given, what has been shared, and what continues to grow.

At Westland, we often speak of patience and of time as core ingredients. Of the slow accumulation of depth of flavor spooling in a cask, and how the rhythm of spirit soaking in and out of the wood staves reminds us of our own breathing rhythms. We find ourselves, in spring, between extremes. The wild edge of winter just behind us, the heady rush of summer still to come. This middle ground, this tender green in-between, is where so many of the season’s meanings live. Growth that is not sudden but steady, renewal that is not loud but lasting.

Weather and climate inform much of our work at Westland, as we communicate with farmers who keep a close eye on moisture, soil health, weather patterns. The perfect day to sow spring barley seeds is carefully mapped and monitored, while vulnerable to changing due to unexpected weather turns. Each step of our process and of the partners surrounding demands a slow approach. It’s easy to forget, in a world built for speed, how much of our lives happens quietly.

And while climate is integral to our every day, we find that relationships are what makes this work add up to something meaningful over time. At the core of our quiet work at Westland, we see relationships. We see people who show up each day, whether that is on the farm, firing up the stills, or pouring a taste for visitors to enjoy. We see friends who chose a special bottle to enjoy on their wedding day, guests who have followed us on the journey of exploring Pacific Northwest terroir.

In whiskey, as in any meaningful relationship—there are no shortcuts. It takes time to understand what matters. Time to listen, to pay attention, to make something that lasts. Time is even required to enjoy what is already here. The things in life of importance. Each of us alive on this planet are born of a mother, and the complexity within that itself calls a moment for pause. This Mother’s Day we look to Mother Nature, as a kind of seasonal rumination. A moment to think about what it means to give, and to receive, with intention. To consider that the best gifts may not be things at all, but moments: shared quietly, remembered vividly.

And as we think about meaningful relationships, we consider the dining table as a visual reminder. Tablescapes seem to be one of the most common places for relationships to grow and blossom. The essence of the table, of the gathering space, remains the reason we chose the name Deacon Seat for our very first whiskey release in 2013. The Deacon Seat is a large tree cut in half at a logging site, acting as a core gathering place, a table, a bed to sleep on, a cornerstone of a tired and close-knit community. This holds meaning for us and our guests, and is an emblem of the shared moments, the good and the hard ones. If you’re looking for something to share, to bring to the table, or to mark a moment, consider choosing something made slowly, with care. Whiskey, in our view, is a kind of memory-keeper and a vessel for storytelling, an accent to a more significant tablescape that you are facilitating. We hope you take time to pause this springtime season as we lead into Mother’s Day next week, and remember that the best things can cumulate slowly over time.