The Woman Behind Our Legacy 

Her name was Grace James.

My grandmother. My grandad's wife. The woman who held the other half of everything together.

She lived to 89. Her mother — my great-grandmother Ada — lived to 109.

Grace had six children, fourteen grandchildren and eight great-grandchildren. A family that size doesn't happen by accident. It happens because someone holds it together. Someone keeps the centre.

Grace was that person.

The women in this family don't leave easily.

Returning to Our Family Roots in Saint Lucia

In 2017, I returned to Saint Lucia. It was the first time I had been back since we lost my grandad in 2009.

Eight years had passed. I don't think I was ready to return before then.

Christina came with me. It was her first time visiting the island — the place that shaped our family and, in so many ways, shaped Bood before we even knew Bood would exist.

And I went to see Grace.

By then, dementia had taken much of her. She wasn't talking, and she didn't know who I was. But when I walked in, she looked at me. Not through me. At me.

It felt as though somewhere deep inside, she was searching — trying to find the face and place where she knew it from. Her eyes were still working, even when her mind couldn't quite reach the memory.

I was simply grateful. Grateful that I made it back to Saint Lucia in time. Grateful for that look. Grateful that my final image of her is of her eyes — still fighting, still searching and still there in some way.

The Knowledge Carried Through Generations

Grace passed away after that visit at 89 years old. A life that long carries experiences and memories most of us will never fully understand.

Her mother Ada lived to 109. Think about what that woman saw. What she carried. What she knew about the land, the sea, the plants that grew on that island. Knowledge that was never written down because it didn't need to be. It lived in the hands. In the kitchen. In the morning routine before anyone else was awake.

The women in our family carried that knowledge in their bodies and their blood. It lived in the food they grew, prepared and shared — not recipes, not measurements, just knowing. In the plants they used before there were words like "wellness" or "superfood." In the traditions passed down without explanation because explanation was never needed.

Sea moss was part of that world long before it was part of ours. It didn't arrive in a jar with a label. It was just there — in the kitchen, in the drinks, in the way the family looked after itself. Quietly. Consistently. With love.

That knowledge didn't end with Grace. It didn't end with Ada before her. It passed — the way all real things pass — not through instruction but through presence. Through watching. Through being in the room.

Still Carrying It

We're still carrying it.

In the way we live. In the values we hold. In the reason we source our sea moss directly from St Lucia — from the same Atlantic coastline those women knew. In the reason Bood exists at all.

That knowledge, strength and connection to Saint Lucia didn't end with them. We carry it in everything we continue to build through Bood.

Grace may never have known what Bood would become. She never got to see it. But when I think about why we do this — why we go back to the source, why we refuse to cut corners, why it matters to us that every product is real — I think about her.

And her mother Ada before her. And the 109 years of knowing.

This is her story—and part of ours.

Learn more about when Grace travelled to England and the work ethic she passed down through our family here: READ GRACE’S STORY