Notes from Beckah

If you've noticed a soft white bloom appearing on your beeswax candle during winter, don't worry. Bloom is a natural characteristic of pure beeswax and one of the many reasons I enjoy working with this remarkable natural material.

Sometimes the things we remember most aren't what we bought, but the care with which they were given. A quiet reflection on Greytown, books, thoughtful packaging, and the way kindness invites us to slow down.

On the drive home from Greytown, a simple act of kindness at a petrol station sent my thoughts in an unexpected direction. It became a reflection on care, the things we remember long after they've happened, and the question I now ask before anything leaves my hands.

Somewhere along the way, "I made it" became "it's handmade." This essay explores what we really mean by handmade, how creative processes have evolved, and why the words we choose matter just as much as the objects we make.

Over the last few days I've found myself thinking about markets. Not just what they're worth in dollars, but in time, attention and the quiet choice to keep showing up long after the excitement of a new idea has passed.

Winter Solstice marks a turning point.  The coldest weeks may still lie ahead, but the light is returning.  A reflection on winter mornings, small rituals, gathering indoors and noticing the subtle signs that the seasson is begining.  

One of my favourite things about markets is meeting the other stall holders. I've always loved peeking into other people's worlds - the stories tucked into magazines, the homes opened for Sunday features, the conversations had beside market tables. Because sometimes handmade objects become more than objects. They become reminders of the people behind them.

I'm a summer person through and through. Winter isn't a season that comes easily to me, but over the years I've learned to pay attention to the small things that help: a warm patch of sunlight, a cup of tea, a good book and the quiet rituals that make the colder months feel a little lighter.

Long before there were collections called Harvest, Orchard, Forage and Ritual, there was a simple habbit at our table.  Before dinner began, a candle was lit.

Before the candle exists there are ideas. experiements, abandoned directions and countless small descisions.    

A finished Candle may take minutes to pour, but often weeks or months to become what it eventually is.

A reflection on the unseen side of handmade work.

There's something about old houses that modern homes can never quite replicate.  Not just the architecture or the creaking floors, but the feeling that life has already unfolded within them for generations.

From my latest journal entry:  On Old Houses and Candlelight.

A few notes on the shifting season.  Quieter evenings, recipes books pulled from the shelf, late autumn sunlight and slow return of candlelight to the table.