This season marks ten years of holiday markets for me. Over that time, I've stood behind folding tables, hauled boxes through icy parking lots, driven across the prairies in the worst of winter storms and spent countless weekends talking with thousands of people about candles, fragrance and what it means to build something with your own two hands.
Markets have helped shape the story of Farmer’s Son Co. from the very beginning. They've connected me with incredible clients and given me the chance to share our products with new faces who might never have walked through our doors. They've also reminded me, year after year, of how challenging it can be to run a small business during the holidays.
I've learnt that markets bring out both the best and the worst in people. The best is easy to spot. It's the person who stops to listen, who leans in to smell a candle and then tells me it reminds them of their family's cabin. It's the person whose been purchasing our pieces for years and comes to the table to restock or to say hello and catchup. Those conversations make the long days worthwhile. They remind me why I started Farmer’s Son Co. and why I keep going.
But markets can also show the harder side of small business life - the fatigue, the expectations, the physical and mental strain, and the moments that make you question why you keep putting yourself through the same weekend grind.
This past weekend, I packed up from the comfort of our shoppe and lab in Winnipeg’s West End and headed to one of my favourite holiday markets. It's always felt like the unofficial start to the holiday shopping season. The glow of twinkle lights, the hum of conversation as friends connect and enjoy exploring, the music playing in the background. I arrived early to set up, like I always do, hoping that the effort would translate into connection and sales that would help offset the costs of preparing for the holidays.
The reality is that the investment is significant. Booth fees alone can run around $1,500. Add in a truck rental, display materials, having colleagues join me, and the product itself, and suddenly one weekend can cost a small business owner several thousand dollars. Still, I looked forward to it. After a slower summer, markets have always been a chance to pay a few bills, reach new clients, and give folks a chance to experience our fragrances and products in person.
For every kind, supportive client who stopped by, there were a few interactions that reminded me why I no longer do markets every weekend. One person asked for a discount if they bought two candles. When I politely said no, they pressed me for a reason. I explained that the cost of soy wax has tripled in recent years, that tariffs have increased, and that small businesses across Canada are trying to keep their heads above water. They asked again if I would lower the price if they bought three. Still no.
Another offered me twenty dollars in cash for a candle priced at $29 plus tax. This wasn't a flea market. I lead a small Canadian fragrance company that employs people, pays taxes and invests in every part of what we create.
Then came the skepticism. There's still people who seem to believe that if a business is small, it must be less legitimate. "Sir, this is a candle company. There is a studio. There is a shoppe. We blend, pour, and ship from Winnipeg every week." Somehow that still doesn't feel like enough proof for some people.
The hardest moments, though, came when I mentioned that I would not be doing any additional markets this year. I explained that I'm focusing my energy on our brick and mortar shoppe and studio - the space we've worked so hard to build (and even expand this summer). A few people looked genuinely disappointed.
“So you are not doing any other markets? That is too bad. I was going to buy some candles from you.”
I have a store. I have a website. I offer same day delivery throughout Winnipeg. I have made it as easy as possible to shop with me. You just do not want to. What you want is for me to keep paying $1,500 in booth fees each weekend and work endless hours over three days so you can feel like you are supporting small business on your terms.
And let's be honest. That kind of behaviour isn't support. It's performative. It's no different than the local washing that appears every year when the shop local slogans start circulating. People love the idea of shopping small, but when a business grows into something more established - when it hires staff, opens a storefront, manages inventory, and builds systems - suddenly it is no longer “small enough.” The story stops feeling romantic.
It's a strange double standard that many small business owners experience. You're celebrated when you're hustling at markets and struggling to keep up, but questioned when you start to build stability. You're applauded when you are working yourself to exhaustion, but ignored when you set boundaries and focus on building something sustainable.
The truth is that showing up for a market takes everything out of you. The setup, the teardown, the hours on your feet, the hundreds of conversations in a single day, the mental math of making sure your prices still cover costs. You are expected to smile and engage even when you are exhausted. You don't have to buy anything, but a simple kindness - a smile, a thank you, a moment of recognition goes a long way.
For anyone who has ever thought about what it takes to run a small business through the holidays, I hope this offers a bit of perspective. Behind every candle, necklace, card or loaf of bread at a local market, there are hours of work, investment and heart. There are people who are doing everything they can to keep creating, to keep showing up and to keep building something meaningful in their communities.
To my fellow small business owners, artisans and creatives who are heading into another busy season, I want to say this.
You do not have to say yes to everything.
You do not have to explain your pricing, defend your margins, or justify why you are focusing your energy elsewhere.
You are allowed to evolve.
You are allowed to protect your time and your voice.
You are allowed to build something that feels sustainable rather than seasonal.
And to our clients, friends, and supporters who continue to show up - in person, online, and through every kind word, thank you. You are the reason this work continues to matter.
Ten years in, I am still here. Still learning. Still building. And still believing that small business deserves respect, not because it is charming or quaint, but because it's real.
