A candle won't save the climate. It might remind you what's worth saving.


“Fire season is year-round now. So is this.”


“Not everything we wear in the water leaves with us.”


“Finally, a shortcut.”


“Right smell. Wrong amount of rain.”


“Still smells alive.”


“Light it while it’s still above sea level.”


“August 14, 2021. Summit Station. Elevation: 3,216m. Raining.”


“Turns out endless wasn’t permanent.”
More are coming. We’ll tell you when.
Unfortunately our material isn’t running out. Neither are the drops. 100 units each. 24 hours notice before anyone else. No spam. Just drops.
Most companies start with a business plan. This one started on Route 395 in California.
Somewhere north of Mojave, where the Los Angeles traffic finally lets you go and the foothills give way to the Sierras, our founder caught the smell of smoke coming from somewhere over the ridgeline. Their climbing partner, riding shotgun, took a deep breath in and said, “mmm, smells like Burning California Pine,” and laughed. Then didn’t. That was the spark.
A few trips later, on the same drive, a different smell hit them. Sweet, ancient, unmistakable: creosote rising off the desert as a storm built on the horizon. The thought was immediate: I want to bottle this up, or turn it into a candle.
Up ahead, flash floods shut down the highway. What should’ve been a straight shot to Tuolumne became a two-hour detour through roads that weren’t supposed to be rivers, another reminder that these places aren’t as stable as they feel.
That’s the whole company. Candles named after ecosystems that are changing, each one tells their story. Our name, 2°Candle Company, puts the Paris Agreement’s warming threshold right on the label. Our founder considered it a stroke of genius. The jury’s still out.
And because this isn’t just nostalgia, $1 from every candle goes to the climate org working to protect that ecosystem — American Forests, Coral Reef Alliance, Polar Bears International, or Mojave Desert Land Trust.