The Legacy in the Soil: What Our Grandmothers Gave Us
She didn’t call it wellness. She just called it living.
She didn’t journal her intentions. She just woke up early and walked into the garden to see what needed tending.
There was wisdom in her hands. The kind passed down - not the knowledge taught in classrooms or quoted in books, but lived wisdom that was shown in the rhythm of her life.
With a morning cup of coffee, she clipped fresh collards, and pulled weeds. She used her voice sparingly, but somehow always knew exactly what to say.
Grandma’s Garden is more than a candle.
It’s a tribute.
A tribute to the women who taught us how to care for what we wanted to keep. Who knew how to bring something beautiful out of hard soil. Who didn’t call it self-care, but practiced it daily - through intention, nourishment, and love.
With notes of fresh florals, green tea, and amber, Grandma’s Garden carries the memory of sun-warmed porches, soft humming, and the slow bloom of patience. It’s inspired by the ones who grew food, grew families, and grew legacy.
She didn’t just teach us how to grow things.
She taught us how to be rooted.
How to trust the season we’re in.
How to love something enough to water it.
How to start again, even after everything’s been lost.
In many Black families, gardening was never just about food, it was legacy. It was survival and celebration. Nourishment and connection. A way to pass on knowledge in the quiet moments between planting and harvest.
If I could go back to those conversations in the garden, I would hold on tighter. Listen longer. Ask more questions.
But we carry that legacy with us now.
You see it in the rosemary cooked into Sunday dinner.
In the quiet joy of watering your houseplants.
In the herbs growing on your kitchen windowsill.
In the way you light a candle - not just for the scent, but for the calm it brings. For the
memories it stirs.
At Black Culture Candles, our scents are inspired by our shared memories and experiences. Every candle tells a story. It’s a reconnection. A moment of joy, culture, and connection.
And this one?
This one is for the roots that still hold us up.
When you light Grandma’s Garden, you’re not just filling your space with fragrance— you’re filling it with wisdom. With love. With the hands that once planted hope so we could bloom in it.
- Lori