17. DISPATCHES - Respecting the Artistry

When I last wrote, I shared some of the realities that’ve come with running a small independent studio through the holiday season. Those thoughts about burnout, cost and the constant hustle of keeping up with markets were honest (maybe a little too honest?), but what I didn’t realize at the time was that those feelings were only going to keep building up inside of me.

This year’s pushed me in ways I didn’t think possible. It’s changed everything I thought I knew about my work and the business I’ve built. In the decade since starting Farmer’s Son Co., this might be the hardest year yet. Not because of burnout or creative block, but because of what it’s taken to hold everything together. The work, the costs, the expectations, the pressure. It’s forced me to step back and ask what kind of business I really want to run, how I want to work, and how I can keep creating without breaking myself in the process.

For years I’ve tried to balance growth with integrity. Every decision’s been about finding that line between creativity and sustainability, about staying true to what we do while adapting to a world that keeps shifting. This year tested that balance.

People love to romanticize handmade. They really truly do. They picture candlelight, calm and endless creativity. But being a small batch studio is physical, often repetitive and exhausting. At one point I poured over 25,000 candles in a single year by myself. That’s thousands of pounds of soy wax melted, stirred, fragrance formulated and blended, and poured by hand, four pounds of wax at a time. Countless nights cleaning glassware, trimming wicks, labeling boxes, packing orders, answering emails, designing artwork, connecting on Instagram, just trying to stay ahead. When people talk about handcrafted, they rarely understand what that actually looks like.

Eventually your body feels it. Your mind feels it. Hunching over folding tables pouring candles for years. Lugging boxes of wax. My wrists and elbows ache. My shoulders, my back, my legs from long days on hard floors. Years of wear and tear have really caught up. I can’t make the way I once did, and pretending otherwise isn’t fair to myself or to the work.

I love what I do, the fragrance work, the storytelling, the rhythm of it all, but I can’t go back to working at that pace. That’s not sustainable nor is it respectful to the art or to the artist behind it.

Every candle I’ve made carries a story, and that part’s not changing. What’s changing is how I care for the person behind the work.

Over the years I’ve had to justify my artistry again and again. I’ve had to explain why our candles cost what they do, why they can’t be priced like something mass produced overseas. There’ve been wholesale buyers who treated what I do like filler on a shelf instead of work that’s designed and composed with care. At my peak our candles were in over 150 stores across Canada and into Mexico. I built that wholesale network from scratch with no outside assistance and no guidebook, just determination. I’m proud of that. But the more shelves we filled, the less time there was for creativity. The faster we scaled, the further I drifted from the reason I started.

There’s also this pressure to constantly justify your existence as an artist. To some people, if you’re not hand blowing the glass or making every single thing yourself, it somehow doesn’t count. That’s not true. What we do is art. What I create is art. I’ve studied fragrance design and been immersed in it for a decade. I understand how scent behaves, how it layers, how it lingers. I’ve put time and training into this craft and I’ve built a studio that works with intention and skill. I shouldn’t have to explain that to someone who wants to haggle on wholesale costing, terms or minimum order commitments.

Setting boundaries hasn’t always been easy. Some businesses have taken it personally. I’ve been told “we made you” by stores that’d place an order or two a year. I’ve had partnerships end because I chose to protect my time or my health. Somewhere along the way people forgot this is still a business, one that runs on hard work, not obligation. Boundaries aren’t about ego. They’re about survival.

I’m also done chasing payments. I’m done waiting for commitments, I’m done with the idea of custom projects where everyone loves the idea but nobody wants to commit, for promises that never show up, for projects that vanish. I’m done creating beautiful product that ends up being blown out on clearance in my own shoppe because of unstable wholesale partners. I didn’t get into this to give my work away. The work deserves better than that. I deserve better than that.

Wholesale’s been tough this year. Our wholesale candle sales are down 65% from this time last year. Not because I didn’t want to make product or didn’t have ideas, but because I couldn’t. We couldn’t offer what we didn’t have materials for. Costs kept climbing and the pricing just stopped making sense. There’s only so much people are willing to pay for something before it becomes out of reach, and I understand that. But I also can’t keep giving my work away. The math just doesn’t add up anymore.

But through everything, I’ve been able to grow our retail and e-commerce business. As the candles have gone down, down, down, and it’s felt like the floor’s falling out from below, I’ve found other ways to keep things moving. I’ve been able to drive the business in new directions and keep it alive by focusing on what’s working. That’s the only way you survive in a year like this one, by adapting, by staying nimble, by trusting that the work will keep finding its way.

A few years ago, there was a project that looked like it could change everything. We worked with a large company to create custom candles for them. The packaging told the story about two Manitoba companies working together, local pride, shared success, founders who worked hard, blah, blah, blah. But when it came time to continue, the story fell apart. Suddenly I was expected to match overseas pricing. To produce thoughtful, hand poured work at the rate of a factory in Vietnam or China. The same people who wanted to celebrate the story were now asking me to erase it. That moment helped me realize I was done.

The irony wasn’t lost on me.

Since then we’ve still said yes to things we probably shouldn’t have. We’ve done projects that didn’t make sense, said yes when we should’ve walked away, tried to make everyone happy. But each time it’s taught me something about what matters, what doesn’t, and what’s worth protecting.

I’d rather build something honest on my own terms. I’d rather focus on work that have meaning (and pay me) than on projects that don’t make sense. I’ve spent enough years running myself into the ground trying to please everyone. I’ve done enough of that for a lifetime.

This year has reshaped how we work. Costs went up. Timelines stretched. Materials disappeared. Tariffs and supply chain issues forced us to rebuild as much as we could from scratch. Our soy wax has close to tripled over the past few years. A lot of my fragrances doubled since January. The glass tumblers we used for nearly a decade aren't easy to come by (made even less appealing when restaurant wholesalers are offering them for more than what they can be had for at the dollar store).

When you spend nearly ten years building an ecosystem and it goes up in smoke, it’s hard to know how to rebuild. After stepping away from sourcing in the States, everything changed. The selection in Canada’s limited, and now every candle maker in the country’s fighting for the same materials. What’s always set us apart has been our fragrance work, the weird, the wonderful, the niche, the unexpected. Finding that again hasn’t been easy.

When you’ve worked with the same lavender or pine for years, you know it like an old friend. You know how it behaves in wax, how it smells cold and how it blooms when it’s lit. You know how it layers with other notes. Suddenly having to start over after a decade of testing and formulation is a lot. Every new sample feels like a gamble, and when that sample ends up costing twice what it used to, you really have to stop and ask yourself, "am I doing the right thing for my business?"

We’ve chosen to move forward with integrity, not shortcuts. We now source all our fragrance oils through Canadian and European partners. That reflects our values and where we’re headed, even if it’s come with growing pains. Some of the notes that defined our best loved candles don’t exist anymore. Others are too expensive to recreate. It’s meant reformulating favourites, testing new blends, and letting go of a few things that can’t return. Ten years of refinement changed almost overnight. It’s been hard, but it’s also given me clarity. It’s made me think about what’s worth keeping and what needs to evolve.

So here’s where we’re at. My handcrafted soy candles aren’t going away, but they’re changing. Smaller runs. Tighter batches. Available only through our own shoppe and the Farmer’s Son Co. website. It’s a bit of a mess right now and it’s going to take some time to figure out, but that’s part of it. This is how I protect the artistry that built this brand. This isn’t the end of Farmer’s Son Co. It’s the next step forward.

We’ll keep offering wholesale for the parts of our business that make sense. Our charcoal incense, my garden tool range, our selection of pure linen towels and the other collections our partners love and our clients connect with. Those areas are growing. But when it comes to candles, I need to fall back in love with the process again. I need to create from a place of joy, not survival.

This isn’t about scaling back. It’s about sustainability, creative, mental and physical. Every candle that leaves our Winnipeg studio still carries the same level of care and storytelling it always has. That’s not changing. What’s changing is how I work, how I protect the craft, and how I protect the person behind it.

This year’s also brought change to our small team. My husband Rory joined Farmer’s Son Co. full time in May, and his work can be seen everywhere - in the shoppe, in the systems, in how we’ve been able to pivot through a year like this one. He’s been part of this story from the beginning, but having him fully in it has changed everything. Earlier in the fall our production setup shifted, and I’ve stepped back into more of the hands-on work again. Together we’re learning how to run the business differently. We’ve laughed, cursed and problem-solved our way through it, and somehow, we continue to come out stronger.

This year's reminded me that grit only gets you so far. You can’t build a business by running yourself into the ground. Respecting the artistry means respecting the artist too. That’s taken me a long time to learn. For years I thought working harder was the only answer. But the truth is, you can’t pour from an empty vessel. Not in candle making. Not in life.

The intention’s still there. The stories are still there. The difference now is that I’m making from a place of calm instead of chaos. From clarity instead of survival.

Farmer’s Son Co. isn’t slowing down. It’s evolving. Our candles will always be part of who we are, but they’ll be made differently now. Smaller runs, deeper storytelling, closer attention to detail. Our other collections, incense, garden tools, linens, elevated pantry staples, imported chocolates and curated goods, keep growing. They reflect the same thought, care and spirit that built this brand in the first place.

Ten years in, it feels like I’m starting again, but this time with perspective. Protecting the business means protecting the craft. Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is slow down long enough to make the right choice. There’s still work ahead, sourcing, rebuilding, reimagining, but I’m proud of where we’re headed and grateful for everyone who’s stuck with us along the way.

I’ve always said Farmer’s Son Co. was going to be more than a candle company. Turns out, maybe it already is.

Onward and upward - one pour, one story, one season at a time.

Cheers,
Dan