The Forager's Fleece

One of the first questions new spinners ask is, "What's the best fiber to learn with?"

It's a good question because not every fiber behaves the same way.

When you're learning to draft, fibers that have a little more grip make the process much easier. They aren't overly slippery, so they stay in your hands a bit longer, giving you time to learn how the fibers move and how much to feed into the yarn.

That's why I often recommend breeds like Cormo, Blue Faced Leicester, and Targhee for beginners. They have enough texture to be forgiving while still producing beautiful yarn.

Once you become comfortable drafting, an entirely new world opens up. Every breed has its own personality. Some are springy, some are silky, some bloom into wonderfully airy yarns, and others create smooth, durable skeins.

Learning to spin isn't about finding the perfect fiber.

There are weeks when progress is measured in finished projects, and there are weeks when it's measured in simply returning to the studio each day.

This week was a little of both.

I kept my promise to spin every day for Tour de Fleece. Two new Maker's Dyery essays found their way onto the website. Another Fiber Field Notes episode was shared, new products were added to the shop, and little by little the shelves are beginning to fill in preparation for the Shenandoah Valley Fiber Festival.

None of it happened all at once.

It happened one bobbin, one page, one art batt, and one set of rolags at a time.

Looking back, it's comforting to realize that a week doesn't have to feel extraordinary to be meaningful. Sometimes the quiet rhythm of showing up is enough.

Rolags are often one of the first fiber preparations that catch a new spinner's eye. They're colorful, soft, and just a little whimsical, lined up like tiny rolls of candy.

They're created by hand carding fiber and gently rolling it into a loose tube. Because the fibers point in many different directions, rolags are traditionally used for woolen spinning, creating yarn that is light, lofty, and warm.

I enjoy making rolags because they're an opportunity to play with color. A little lavender beside charcoal. A touch of mint next to soft pink. Sometimes a glimmer of silk or a hint of sparkle. Each one is a small composition, and every spinner brings those colors together in their own unique way.

Rolags are often one of the first fiber preparations that catch a new spinner's eye. They're colorful, soft, and just a little whimsical, lined up like tiny rolls of candy.

They're created by hand carding fiber and gently rolling it into a loose tube. Because the fibers point in many different directions, rolags are traditionally used for woolen spinning, creating yarn that is light, lofty, and warm.

I enjoy making rolags because they're an opportunity to play with color. A little lavender beside charcoal. A touch of mint next to soft pink. Sometimes a glimmer of silk or a hint of sparkle. Each one is a small composition, and every spinner brings those colors together in their own unique way.

It wasn't until I stepped back from the dye pots that I realized I had spent the week making an ice cream collection.

There were strawberry pinks, blackberry purples, minty greens, blueberry blues, and soft cotton candy pastels quietly filling the drying racks. One by one they had emerged from the steam, each color seeming perfectly ordinary on its own. Together, though, they felt like a summer afternoon.

Perhaps it's because I recently bought an ice cream maker. Perhaps it's simply the season finding its way into my work. Inspiration has a funny habit of arriving unnoticed until everything is laid out together.

This week I dyed twenty four pounds of wool. Soon these colors will move from the drying racks to the drum carder, where they'll be blended into art batts and rolags. The dyeing is only the beginning. The real joy comes in discovering how each color will mingle with the next.

For now, I'm content to enjoy the view. Sometimes it's enough to stand back and notice the quiet patterns that emerge while you're busy making.

This week's Maker's Dyery is now live.

I've been thinking a lot about consistency lately. As makers, we often hear that consistency is the key to improving our craft. While that's true, I've realized it isn't always easy.

Sometimes I want to experiment. Sometimes I want to chase a new idea just to see where it leads. Then there are moments when I need to recreate a colorway exactly, and that requires a completely different mindset.

This week's reflection explores that tension between curiosity and repetition, and how I'm learning to make room for both.

If that sounds familiar, I'd love for you to read it.

The Practice of Consistency

https://www.theforagersfleece.com/makersdyery/the-practice-of-consistency

Today was one of those summer days where the garage felt more like a sauna than a studio.

The dye pots were going, wool and yarn were being scoured, and the drying racks kept filling up. It's not the most glamorous part of the process, but every art batt, rolag, and skein begins here with clean fiber, hot water, and a little patience.

The studio is wonderfully chaotic right now. Tubs of wool, steaming pots, drying racks, and projects waiting for their turn.

Meanwhile, Oli wisely stayed out of the garage and instead supervised his fellow potatoes from the comfort of the air conditioning. Honestly, he may have been the smartest one here.

Tomorrow I'll be doing exactly the same thing. The fiber will be cleaner. I will not.

Today was one of those summer days where the garage felt more like a sauna than a studio.

The dye pots were going, wool and yarn were being scoured, and the drying racks kept filling up. It's not the most glamorous part of the process, but every art batt, rolag, and skein begins here with clean fiber, hot water, and a little patience.

The studio is wonderfully chaotic right now. Tubs of wool, steaming pots, drying racks, and projects waiting for their turn.

Meanwhile, Oli wisely stayed out of the garage and instead supervised his fellow potatoes from the comfort of the air conditioning. Honestly, he may have been the smartest one here.

Tomorrow I'll be doing exactly the same thing. The fiber will be cleaner. I will not.

I just published a new Maker's Dyery on my website.

This one is about the memories we weave into the things we make. Every shawl, sweater, quilt, or skein seems to carry a little piece of the season of life it was created in.

If you've ever looked at a handmade project and immediately remembered where you were when you made it, I think you'll enjoy this one.

I'd love to hear if one of your handmade projects holds a special memory, too.

This week has been all about getting ready for the festival.

I've been blending rolags and art batts, putting together beginner drop spindle kits, finishing the new Fiber Palette Kits, writing a how-to booklet, and packaging everything so it's ready for the weekend.

Now the car is packed, the studio is (mostly) tidied up, and everything is ready to go.

All that's left is a good meal, a good night's sleep, and then it's time to share it all with you.

Did you know that I also have a blog? Check out my latest post below!!

The Loudoun Heritage Farm Museum Fiber Festival! I can't wait!

I'm excited to share that The Forager's Fleece will be vending at the Loudoun Heritage Farm Museum Fiber Festival on June 27.

The next couple of weeks will be filled with dye pots, wool, rolags, batts, yarn, and probably a little bit of last-minute scrambling.

If you're planning to attend, I'd love for you to stop by and say hello.

Until then, it's back to the studio.

The water lily had opened overnight. Nasturtiums were blooming in bright oranges and reds. The lavender was ready to harvest. Everywhere I looked, summer seemed to be arriving a little more fully.

Oli and I sat quietly for a few minutes and simply enjoyed it.

Before the emails.

Before the orders.

Before the wool.

I've come to realize that many of my colorways begin this way—not at the carder or dye pot, but in moments of noticing. A flower opening. A patch of color in the garden. The texture of dried seed heads. The way light changes a familiar landscape.

Later, some of those same colors found their way onto the carder.

This Pride, I'm thinking about memory.

When I was a teenager, I found And the Band Played On on a shelf in my high school library. Decades later, parts of that book still stay with me.

I also remember seeing photographs of the AIDS Memorial Quilt spread across the National Mall. I never saw it in person, only through pictures, but it stopped me all the same. The sheer scale of it was impossible to ignore. Names stitched into fabric so they would not be forgotten.

As a fiber artist, I spend a lot of time thinking about what cloth can carry.

Warmth, certainly. But also memory.

Story. Love. Grief. Hope.

The Quilt reminds me that fabric can be more than material. It can become remembrance. It can become witness. It can become a way of saying, this person was here and mattered.

This Pride, I'm thinking about those who came before us, those creating today, and those still finding their place.

We remember.

We create.

The studio is quieter again now. Inventory is slowly being put back into place. Skeins are being counted. Notes are being scribbled into notebooks before I forget them. The loudness of the weekend has softened back into the familiar rhythm of making.

Today’s official studio update comes from Oli, studio manager and part-time wool inspector:

The human appears more emotionally stable.

The wool piles continue expanding.

Inventory remains complicated.

Snacks are strongly encouraged.

I’ve spent most of today writing yarn descriptions and revisiting the stories behind different colorways, which honestly feels like a gentle way back into the studio after such a big first festival experience.