Porch lights have always meant something. Long before electricity, they were candles and whale-oil lamps…small flames set just outside the home, not for decoration but for direction.
A signal in the dark saying,, you're welcome here.
As lighting evolved through the 19th and 20th centuries, porches became more than entryways…they became gathering places. Evenings stretched longer, conversations lingered, and community formed in the quiet glow of something simple left on.
Because the truth is, the world can be a dark place.
When I first went into recovery, I put cigars down completely. Not casually…intentionally. Like Pavlov's dog, I didn't trust myself. Years of bourbon collecting… ahem…drinking had wired my brain to believe cigars and alcohol were inseparable. So I walked away from both. But I didn't walk away clean. I was bitter. Restless. Angry. An "angry brother of the leaf," resenting what I couldn't have and fearing what might happen if I tried. And I let that fear drive me for a long time.
Years, if I'm being honest.
Then one night, sitting on a recovery buddy's porch, something shifted. My friend Chris handed me a cigar. He didn't know my history or the internal war I had been fighting. To him, it was just a simple act of kindness. But if you've spent any time in recovery, you know how the mind works…there's that quiet voice that creeps in, you've earned it. That's the addict brain talking. Still, I said yes.
I don't remember what cigar it was, but I remember everything else. We talked for hours into the kind of night that doesn't feel heavy, just honest. It turned into this oral slideshow of our lives…who we were, who we had become, and who, if we stayed the course, we might still become. We talked about politics and theology, about Jesus, and about the idea that addiction might not just be a behavior problem, but a worship disorder.
Somewhere in the middle of all that, something deeper formed.
Not just friendship….brotherhood.
Months later, Chris gave me a box of Camacho Corojo cigars. And yeah, I know…this is where I lose the boutique crowd. But I don't care. That box wasn't about status, it was the first box of cigars I'd ever been given. Not bought, not chased, not hunted down. Gifted. From someone who saw me not just for who I had been, but for who I was becoming. I sat on that same porch after a relapse, completely undone…angry, exhausted, weeping in a way only someone in that fight understands. And Chris was steady. Kind. Gentle. Full of wisdom and grace. He didn't try to fix me or lecture me.
He just stayed. A brother in the trenches.
Every time I reached into that box, I thought of him. And funny enough, it reminded me of the wrapper itself, Corojo. There's a sweetness there, not sugary but something deeper. Warm, rounded, rich. That's what our friendship felt like. Over time, that porch filled up…more chairs, more stories, more nights that stretched longer than they should have.
We went to church together, played music together, built things together. And somewhere along the way, I became to others what Chris had been to me. That's how it works. The light gets passed on.
We'd burn through two, sometimes three cigars in a night, back-to-back. And I learned quickly that if you don't pace it right, you lose the experience. Your palate fades, everything blends together. So I started paying attention. Writing things down. Asking myself what makes a cigar you can come back to again and again in the same night…something flavorful but balanced, engaging but not overwhelming, familiar but never boring. Years later, that question became something more.
It became Porchlight.
"Porchlight" is my way of capturing all of it…the place, the people, the conversations that change you. It's an homage to the porch not just as a structure, but as a space of hospitality and warmth. A place where camaraderie and connection…connect. Where friendships are formed, and community is born.
It's also an homage to brotherhood. To my friend Chris…the Camacho Corojo gift-giver…one of the people who quietly changed the trajectory of my life. This one's for you.
The Brolo Cigar Co. Porchlight will debut in a 5x50 robusto, wrapped in Ecuadorian Corojo. But we don't build cigars around spec sheets. We build them around moments. Every blend is refined to deliver a feeling….a rhythm, a reason to stay a little longer. Porchlight is meant for long nights, for second cigars and third ones, for conversations that matter.
We're getting close now.
Closer than we've ever been.
Porchlight is coming.
So is Confessional.
And Back Booth.
Each one with its story to tell and we can't wait to share them with you.
