Origin Story
A story of reconnection, remembrance, and renewal.
By Catherine Wales
It didn’t begin with a plan
House of Tonic didn’t start with a business strategy. It began with a feeling — a breath, a longing, a question.
Am I still being true to who I really am?
After years spent in motion — crossing continents, building a career in fashion, designing futures that looked beautiful from the outside — I found myself quietly wondering. The answer didn’t come all at once. It arrived slowly, gently — in flashes of memory: bare feet on warm grass, knowing the night sky, the hum of nature, the way silence speaks when you really stop to listen.
I craved something I had almost forgotten. Groundedness. Truth. The kind of truth that lives in the soil, in the seasons, in the wind against your skin. Not curated. Not optimised. Just real.
The bees led me back
That longing led me to a tiny schoolhouse in Falls Village. There, life softened. The noise receded. And I discovered bees. Or maybe they discovered me.
It wasn’t just a hobby — it was a homecoming.
Learning to care for them brought rhythm, instinct, and interdependence. It reminded me how to move in sync with something older and wiser than myself. And it’s how I met Greg.
A shared rhythm
Greg struck me immediately: deeply tuned to the natural world — not just in reverence, but in curiosity.
He doesn’t just taste honey. He wonders who tasted it first.
He doesn’t just fix a tool. He wonders how it was made, and why.
That kind of thinking shaped his life — experimenting with natural processes, asking questions the land could answer. When we met, it felt like two parts of the same rhythm had finally clicked.
From whisper to ritual
“I want to build something with you,” I told him. “Something that feels real. That heals. That shares our way of being.” He said yes.
From a beeswax salve, a jar of syrup, a ritual in the garden — a lifestyle emerged. Not just a business, but a way of remembering.
My background in fashion had taught me: what we put on our bodies holds power. Whether a garment or a balm, it’s a potion — a kind of armour or sanctum.
Now, instead of fabric, I work with clay and wax, scent and salve.
Greg keeps the hives alive. I bring the vision to form.
Together, we create rituals for skin and soul — care you can hold in your hand.
What do we really need?
Every product we make — from lotion bars to wildflower salves to maple-sweet syrups — begins with the same question:
What do we really need?
The answer is always the same:
More connection.
More balance.
More care.
Rooted in slowness
We don’t rush things here. The bees set the pace. The land decides what comes next.
Beauty grows better when you give it time.
We’re not trying to be everywhere. We’re trying to be here — present, local, rooted. And if you’re drawn to that — the slowness, the softness, the soil — then we’ve saved you a seat.
Welcome to House of Tonic
Come visit. Breathe deep.
Taste what the trees gave.
Press a salve into your skin.
Ask us a question. Tell us a story.
Wander through the wild edges of what you thought you needed — and take only what truly serves you.
This is House of Tonic.
Welcome home.