It Starts with a Shrub
Long before candles were decorative — before they were scented, colored, or poured into mason jars — they were essential. And in the coastal villages of colonial New England, they were hard to come by.
Tallow, rendered from animal fat, was the standard. It smoked, it smelled, and it didn't last. Beeswax burned cleaner but cost more than most families could afford. So when European settlers encountered the bayberry shrub — Myrica cerifera, a scrubby, salt-tolerant plant that thrived in the sandy soil from New England down through the Carolinas — they paid attention.
The berries were small, barely an eighth of an inch across, covered in a thin coating of pale, fragrant wax. Colonists learned to harvest them by the bushel in late autumn, boil them in kettles of water, and skim the wax that floated to the surface. It was slow, painstaking work — and the yield was tiny. Roughly fifteen pounds of berries produced a single pound of usable wax.
But the result was worth it: a candle that burned slowly, cleanly, and with a subtle, earthy fragrance unlike anything else. No smoke. No rancid smell. Just a steady, bright flame that could light a room through a long winter night.