At Sip and Ship, every treat tells a story—and Emma, our head baker and café manager, has one of the sweetest stories of all.
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When Emma first applied for our bakery position a few years ago, we were in a period of transition—always a familiar rhythm in both business and life. Our previous baker was moving on to start a venture with her husband, and I was completely absorbed in the daily demands of running the shop. Into that whirlwind of change came Emma: determined, persistent, and full of curiosity.

She had finished college and pursued a career in her field of study, but quickly realized it wasn’t the path for her. Undeterred, she discovered a new passion: baking. Over a few months, she emailed me a couple of times, gently reminding me she was still interested in the position. Her tenacity and willingness to follow her instincts—and try something entirely new—spoke volumes to me. Despite not having formal baking experience, we took a chance on her, and not a moment of that decision has been regretted.

Emma’s journey to our kitchen is as unique as her treats. During college, she worked at the St. Louis Zoo in the bird section, caring for baby penguins. She learned all about how penguins greet each other—and besides her talent in the kitchen, she can literally speak penguin. It’s this combination of heart, curiosity, and attention to detail that she brings to every creation.

Since joining Sip and Ship, Emma has mastered our classic favorites—banana bread, salted chocolate chip cookies, trail mix cookies, and peanut butter cookies—while introducing new delights that have quickly developed a devoted following. Highlights include her gluten-free walnut date bars, seasonal scones, pumpkin bread, and most recently, a cinnamon-laced coffee cake crowned with a buttery crumble, designed to pair perfectly with our medium roast drip coffee. Sweet, savory, and just a little caffeinated—this treat has already become the obsession of the week.

Starting at the beginning of the year, Emma will be baking on location in our Greenwood café once we sunset the Ballard store, giving everyone a front-row seat to her magic. Every bite is handmade, small batch, and baked with love—a little taste of joy you can enjoy while sipping your coffee and tackling your day.

From penguin whispers to perfect pastries, Emma’s journey reminds us that curiosity, tenacity, and heart make all the difference—not just in baking, but in life.

After 23 wonderful years of proudly serving the Ballard community, we will be closing the doors of Ballard Sip and Ship on Christmas Eve, December 24, 2025.
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The building will soon be redeveloped, and while we hoped to find a new home here in Ballard, we were unable to secure a suitable space.

While this chapter is bittersweet, our story isn’t ending—it’s simply turning the page. We warmly invite you, our cherished customers, to continue with us at Greenwood Sip and Ship, where our doors remain wide open. There, you’ll still find the same coffee, connection, shipping solutions, and community spirit you’ve come to know and trust.

Serving Ballard has been one of the greatest privileges of our lives. Thank you for welcoming us into your daily routines, for your friendship, and for the countless ways you’ve supported Sip and Ship over more than two decades.

If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to reach out directly to owner, Diana Naramore:
 [email protected]
 206-794-7886

With deep gratitude and appreciation,
Your Sip and Ship Team

From my grandmother’s sewing machine to every interaction at Sip and Ship, care is in the details we choose to honor and carry forward.
At Sip and Ship, quality care has always been our guiding thread. It’s what my husband Steve and I hoped to weave into every part of our family business when we first opened the doors—and what our team continues to carry forward today.

That sense of care didn’t come out of nowhere. It was taught to me long before I ever realized it.
I don’t know how to sew—not really. But I’ve always admired people who do.

My grandmother, Dorthea, was one of them. As a little girl, I would watch in awe as she made clothes for my mom, Leah; my aunts, Jane and Kyttie; and even for neighbors in her community. I remember the way she measured, folded, and pinned with such precision, as if every seam mattered not just for the dress, but for the person who would wear it. The gentle clacking of her sewing machine created a steady, hypnotic rhythm that filled the room with a quiet magic. I would sit for hours just watching her hands guide fabric under the needle, letting the motion and sound transport me to another world where time slowed and everything felt possible. I didn’t care how long I had to wait for my turn; simply being there, immersed in the cadence of her controlled, deliberate movements, was enough. She was known as a skilled seamstress, but even more so for the quality of care she stitched into every piece. Seams were tight, hems straight, fabrics chosen with thought and intention. I would often outgrow her dresses before they ever wore out, yet I never outgrew the admiration and wonder I felt watching her work.

Years later, I thought of her again when one of my favorite tops—one I’d bought in Rome several years ago—began to come apart. I had discovered it on a perfect day of sightseeing, in a small shop near the Spanish Steps. My boys, Joe, Jack, and George, were with me, licking gelato cones as we strolled the cobblestone streets. A small bell tinkled from a doorway, somehow inviting me in. I stepped inside and found one of the most beautiful tops I’d ever seen. Light, textured, and timeless. I’ve worn it every summer since.

When it started to fray, I took it to a seamstress and paid far too much for what turned out to be a temporary fix. Within a month, it had unraveled again. And this time, something in me shifted.
I realized I’d spent years admiring the patience and skill of others without ever giving myself permission to try. At 58, I decided it was time. I ordered a simple sewing kit and sat down with that top, determined to mend it myself.

Not perfectly. Not even especially neatly. But I did it. And I’m glad I did.

This is what mending looks like—not waiting for someone else to fix what matters to us, but choosing to try with our own two hands. Watching my grandmother, I realized that mending is also about connection. She wasn’t just sewing fabric—she was caring for the people who would wear her creations. Every precise seam, every thoughtful stitch, was a way of showing attention, respect, and love.

At Sip and Ship, we approach every interaction the same way. True quality of care comes from connecting with our guests—listening closely to what they need, understanding the details that matter most, and taking intentional steps to ensure the desired outcome is met. Whether it’s starting your day with a warm cup of coffee lightly sprinkled with cinnamon, carefully wrapping a gift for your mom to take to her favorite dinner spot in Ballard at Ray’s Boathouse, packing and shipping family heirlooms across the country so a loved one can move to New York to pursue their dreams, or sending a college student their first care package filled with forgotten chargers, a favorite sweatshirt, essential posters and sneakers, and a few surprise treats from home—each small touch is a way to show that someone is thought of and loved. Each gesture is a stitch, holding together a relationship, a memory, and a moment of care.

At Sip and Ship, we believe in slowing down enough to ensure things are done with thoughtfulness and care.

At Sip and Ship, we carry those threads forward—stitching connection into every interaction, weaving intention into every detail, and creating moments of care that endure. Like that Rome top I finally took the time to mend, the act of caring—slow, thoughtful, deliberate—leaves a mark that lasts. It’s why we do what we do, and why every small gesture matters.

We look forward to seeing you soon!

Diana and Your Sip and Ship Team