Not a red heart. Not the fiery, passionate, screaming-in-the-stands kind of love. A light blue heart. The color of the sky from October to June, the color of your fingertips at the coast in August, the color of the mood you get into around month four of continuous drizzle. That is Oregon love: soft, damp, a little melancholy, and absolutely unshakeable.
You moved here for the trees and stayed for the coffee that costs as much as a tank of gas, which you may or may not be legally allowed to pump yourself depending on the year and what county you are standing in. Zero sales tax, infinite moss, a volcano in your peripheral vision at all times. Nobody is thriving. Everybody is thrilled about it.
Cut from soft, substantial fabric that holds its shape through layering season, which is all of them. Built to survive drizzle, trailheads, brewery patios, and that one friend who insists it is not actually raining.
