Each candle, with its intoxicating scent of honey, has its story to share as it burns.  Fragrances that evoke the stories of hallowed spots of earth where honeybees forage for pollen and nectar of the south’s finest flora only to take it back to a pretty house and place it ever so carefully into perfectly pulled hexagonal pockets to be transformed, as if by magic, into golden honey.  And the candles not only share the tales of the south’s sacred land, but also the people who cultivate it.  My mom often tells me about being a young girl and deeply saddened to watch her grandmother pull away in a car carrying her to Florida for a few weeks one summer.  Momma had tucked a mason jar of honey my great-grandmother had pulled from her hives into her bag, with a note that read, ‘You forgot your honey.  The kind you eat, not me.’  We celebrate the tupelo trees that stretch towards the Carolina sky from the boggy swamps to the sourwoods that enjoy the crisp air of Appalachia, and the people who’ve inhabited these lands for generations and call them home.  When a match is struck to burn a Backyard Bee candle, the fragrance that transcends tells the stories of the south’s land and her people, and the sentimental life we will forever preserve.