The Backyard: A companion to "Where It All Started"

The Lake Trail was where I ran free. But the backyard was where I learned to be still.

More than a Garden
For a little girl, our backyard in the North End seemed endless. 
Orange trees. Grapefruit. Lemon. Lime. Key lime. Banana. Avocado. And blooming everywhere — orchids, gardenias, jasmine, roses, hibiscus, bougainvillea. And, at the time, I didn't know how extraordinary it was. Because to me, it was just home, and the way life smelled.

My Father and His Yard
My father, as many of you who will read this know, was a corporate lawyer — not the courtroom kind, but the quiet, brilliant kind. The kind who guided companies through intricate legal maneuvers, who understood how complicated things fit together, who saw the architecture underneath the surface of things. He grew up in Paris and London, and had an absolute zest for life. He was always moving, always thinking, always somewhere he needed to be.

Except in the backyard.
In the yard he slowed down. He moved through his plants with intention and purpose, unhurried in a way he wasn't anywhere else. His passion was orchids — those strange, architectural, quietly spectacular blooms that demand patience and reward attention. He grew them the way he did everything: seriously, lovingly, and with complete commitment.
I didn't understand any of that then. I just knew that the backyard was where my father went to be quiet. And, where he went, I went, and learned to be quiet and intentional – with him, like him.

What I Was Learning Without Knowing It
I followed him through the citrus trees and the blooms on the bushes, the way children follow parents they adore — closely, maybe not so quietly, but always trying to understand his passion. I watched him tend his orchids. I helped where I could. I asked questions, maybe too many, and he always took me seriously. 

And, I smelled everything.

The sharp brightness of a grapefruit pulled from the tree. The juicy sweetness of the oranges. The different brightness of lemon — cleaner, more directional. The sharpness of key lime. The gardenias that bloomed in clusters and made the whole yard smell like something between a dream and a memory. The jasmine that crept along the fence and announced itself before you ever saw it. The roses - sublime. 

I was memorizing all of it. I didn't know that's what I was doing. I just thought I was spending time with my dad.

What the Backyard Taught Me
Each bloom in that backyard was telling me something — about the time of day, about the season, about what was alive and growing and present. This backyard was a system of citrus, blooms, herbs, and greens, with every element affecting every other. 

I think about that now when I'm formulating a new scent. The way a top note has to be honest — it's the first thing you smell, the first impression, the thing that makes you lean in or walk away. The way a base note has to hold everything together without announcing itself too loudly. The way the heart of a fragrance is where the real story lives.

My father taught me that without ever saying a word about fragrance or candles.

The Connection
He's been gone for over twenty-five years. But the backyard remains. Not that backyard — but the one I carry with me – like the Lake Trail. It’s the backyard that lives in my nose and my hands and the part of my brain that reaches for the right note when something is almost but not quite right.

When you burn Lake Trail and the gardenia opens up in the first twenty minutes — those are his bushes.

When you smell The Island and the citrus bursts through bright and clean before settling into something deeper — those are his trees.

When Billionaire’s Row fills a room with the sweetness of a Palm Beach morning — that's the feeling of being in that backyard, quiet, unhurried, exactly where you're supposed to be.

He never knew he was teaching me to make candles. I never knew I was being taught.

That's the thing about backyards. And fathers. They give you things you don't know you've been given until much later, when you reach for something and find it already there.

Breathe In What You Love.

--> Explore the Palm Beach Collection