I didn’t grow up dreaming about starting a candle company. I can't imagine that many do.

Honestly, I wasn’t even much of a candle person for most of my life. I liked being outside hiking, climbing, and traveling. I’ve always been the type to chase experiences and keep my hands busy. Candles, by their nature, weren’t really part of that. Not until around 2020.

During the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, I was on active duty, living out of hotel rooms across New York State. This was my life for over two years. I was part of the effort to analyze data and help predict where the next outbreaks might hit. It was exhausting, emotionally and mentally. Every day felt heavy. You’d spend hours trying to make sense of what was coming next, knowing that behind every number was real pain - families, health workers, lives on the line. And you never knew if you were right.

There wasn’t much space to process any of it, especially when you’re sleeping in a room that isn’t yours, working 12+ hour days, and doing it again the next morning.

So I built little routines.

I’d light a candle. Clean up the desk. Maybe crack a window if I could. I’d put on some music and start writing songs, poetry, thoughts I didn’t know what else to do with. I wasn’t trying to make anything special. It was just how I made sense of the day. A way for me to create a little peace in the middle of all that noise.

Candles became part of that rhythm. Not as decoration. Not for “aesthetic.” But as a way to mark the shift between the external and the internal. Between surviving the day and reclaiming a small bit of it for myself.

Even though I’m not as deep into music or poetry these days, that chapter still lives in me. Lighting a candle before settling into my evening, whether I’m answering emails, packing orders, or writing a blog post like this one, still brings a kind of focus and calm that I didn’t realize I needed until I didn’t have it anymore.

In 2022, towards the end of the pandemic, I started experimenting with wax and fragrance oils in my spare time, just to see if I could make something that smelled like the places I loved when I wasn't working: a mountain trail, a pine forest after rain, that sweet, earthy quiet you only get when you’re deep in the woods. It wasn’t a business. It was just something that felt grounding. Something small and physical in a world that felt increasingly abstract. I had some ideas about what I could do with what I was working on, but I was super busy with my day job and didn’t really have the time to do much more than tinker.

Then, in May 2024, I lost my job. It wasn’t the first time life had knocked me off course, but this time hit differently. I’d spent over years ten years building my career, giving everything to it. Late nights, long hours, constantly trying to prove my worth. I told myself it was what I needed to do, that security came from showing up, doing the work, staying in line. And then, just like that, it was gone. No warning. No reason. No safety net. Just, “We don’t see a fit for you here anymore.” The world got pretty quiet that day.

I’d love to say I had some inspiring breakthrough right away. I didn’t. I was scared. I was worried we were going to lose everything. I work in the tech industry and job prospects are... tough to put it nicely. I was tired. Angry, if I’m being honest. I applied to every job I could find - hundreds of jobs. I watched savings drain. I worried about what people would think. What I would think of myself. I felt like I had failed. Every morning I woke up felt like a failure.

Jess would wake up in the mornings and head off to work while I sat at home wondering what the heck to do with my life. You can only apply to so many jobs in a day...

And in the middle of that mess, I kept making candles.

Not because I thought it would lead anywhere, but because it helped me get through the day. Pouring wax, mixing scents, testing wicks. It was something that gave me a rhythm when everything else was out of sync. There’s something incredibly steadying about working with your hands. About creating something from start to finish and seeing it exist in the world. And as a bonus, getting to see your creations bring other people joy.

Eventually, I decided to sell a few. We needed the extra cash anyway, and I figured popping up at a few local markets couldn’t hurt. And knowing me, I don’t do anything halfway... so I kinda went all in. But I didn’t have a grand plan. Just a couple of markets, a few friends and neighbors, some knack with a computer, and research skills. At best, I thought maybe I’d make back what I spent on supplies, plus a bit extra to help out with groceries and stretch what little savings we had.

I never expected people to respond the way they did. Things took off pretty quickly. A lot quicker than I expected. I got active on Instagram. I applied to every market I could, even though I didn’t feel like I was ready. 

At markets, complete strangers would come up, smell a candle, and tell me it reminded them of somewhere they used to go as a kid. A cabin they hadn’t thought about in years. A person they missed. A moment they hadn’t realized they were holding onto.

Those conversations changed everything for me.

I realized that I had more than just some candles I made in my kitchen. I had a brand. Something with meaning and intention. Something that resonated with people.

I realized that what I was doing wasn’t just about the candle. It was about connection. Memory. Comfort. The way a scent can bring you home to yourself,  even if just for a second. What I had learned to savor in my hotel room for over two years, I was able to bring to the people around me.

And that mattered. Because at that point in my life, I didn’t feel at home anywhere. Not in the job market. Not in the routines I used to follow. I felt like I was drifting. But when I was at a market, talking to someone about the smell of Sweet Mountain Pine and how it reminded me of the forests at the top of Mount Mitchell, I didn’t feel lost. I felt present. I felt like I was doing something honest.

So I kept going. I started making more candles, testing more scents. I learned how to build a website. I packed orders at my kitchen table. I made mistakes, a lot of them (and still do). But it felt good to show up for something that didn’t require me to pretend I was fine.

This business was born in the middle of uncertainty, not on the other side of it. 

Even now, with a day job again, having moved from our grassroots in Raleigh to an entirely new market in Virginia, this company still isn’t about trying to scale fast or “disrupt the industry” or any of those flashy startup goals.

Clear Mountain Provisions exists because I needed something real when everything else fell apart. And apparently, I wasn’t the only one.

I know there are a lot of eco-friendly candle companies out there. A lot of nature-inspired brands. I’ve seen them. I respect them. 

But this one? It’s different to me because it came from a place of loss, and it became something that helped me heal.

It reminds me that we’re allowed to start over. That small, quiet things can hold a lot of power. That it’s okay to build something slowly, to not have it all figured out, to care deeply about the details that no one else sees (or maybe even cares about).

So when I say I started making candles because I needed something real, I mean it. I didn’t come into this looking to build a big company or brand. I came into it because, for a while, candles, as seemingly insignificant as they are, were the one thing I could count on to help me breathe, reset, and reconnect with myself.

And now, maybe, they can do that for someone else too. If you’ve ever been through a season where everything felt like it was slipping through your hands… I see you. We are here for you, too.

To everyone who has supported this small, scrappy little company, thank you. Whether you bought a candle, told a friend about us, or just showed up with kindness... I’ve noticed. And I’ve held onto that. Especially on the days when I am not sure how much longer I can keep this going.

Your support means more than just helping us stay afloat. It’s reminded me that this work matters, and that even in the mess of rebuilding, something good can still grow. 

Thank you for reading this. Honestly, it’s a story I’ve been carrying for a long time. Putting it into words like this feels equal parts scary and necessary.

Truly, from the deepest part of my heart, thank you. You’ve given me more than I ever expected. 

Now go buy a candle ;)

With Love,
Chris