#studioprocess

[foragersfleece]

Raspberry Lemonade is becoming yarn.

This colorway first appeared in the studio as rolags — bright raspberry pinks and soft lemon yellows blended together into a cheerful little pile of fiber.

I put them in the shop and they disappeared faster than I expected. Then I made more… and those disappeared too.

Since then, quite a few people have asked if the colorway might eventually become yarn.

So I’m listening.

Raspberry Lemonade is officially joining the yarn line at The Forager’s Fleece.

I’ve opened pre-orders while I start preparing the dye baths and winding skeins. The first batch will begin shipping March 20.

It’s always a little magical watching a colorway grow from loose wool into something that will eventually become someone’s sweater, shawl, or pair of socks.

Now I’m off to the dye pots.

[foragersfleece]

Today’s studio colors turned quietly purple.

I spent part of the afternoon at the blending board working on a new rolag colorway I’m calling Lavender Mist. Soft purples drifting through white wool until the colors felt like fog moving across a field of violets.

The blend is Texel, Rambouillet, BFL, and Merino — airy, springy fiber that drafts slowly and evenly. Exactly the kind of preparation that makes you want to sit down with a wheel and spin without rushing.

Also, a small studio surprise this week:

Raspberry Lemonade disappeared from the shop again.

I’ll be making another batch soon.

For now, the studio is quietly full of purple.

[foragersfleece]

the dye side quest got me again

I intended to practice spinning today.

That was the plan, anyway.

Instead, I started thinking about color for “just a minute,” which turned into soaking wool, mixing dye, watching water shift shades in the pot, and standing in the kitchen/studio doorway holding dripping skeins while wondering how it got dark outside already.

The spinning wheel never even had a chance.

Still, I don’t think the day was wasted.

There’s something comforting about following curiosity wherever it decides to go, even if it means abandoning the original plan halfway through.

The wool usually knows before I do.

[foragersfleece]

’Twas four days before Crossroads Fiber Festival, and the wool had taken over the house.

There are bags of fiber on the floor, rolags tucked into baskets, labels waiting their turn, and a drum carder that has absolutely earned a nap. The product photos are happening in little bursts. The lists are multiplying. The booth supplies are slowly becoming less theoretical.

And somehow, in the middle of all of that, there was still a cup of coffee outside.

The peas are blooming. The mint is thriving. Oli is supervising from behind the garden boxes like a very serious little woodland foreman. For a few minutes, everything felt quiet enough to notice.

This will be my first fiber festival as a vendor, and I keep moving between excitement and nerves and that strange exposed feeling that comes from bringing handmade work out into the world. There is so much of me in these colors, these textures, these small soft things.

But maybe that is the point.

Four days before the festival, the house is full of wool, the garden is full of green, and a dream is slowly becoming a booth.

Crossroads Fiber Festival

May 23–24

Salisbury, MD

[foragersfleece]

Every time I pull fiber off the drum carder it looks mildly surprised.

As if it just woke up mid-dream and isn’t quite sure what reality is yet. There’s always this moment where the fibers lift back into themselves. They're soft, unsettled, and a little disoriented from being held in place.

I think that’s my favorite part. Not fully formed, not fully undone. Just in-between.

I understand that feeling more than I’d like to admit.

[foragersfleece]

Some weeks feel less like graceful progress and more like trying to carry armfuls of wool from one room to another without dropping anything.

The studio has been full lately. New products drying, fiber everywhere, festival prep slowly taking over the house. My mom learned how to make a batt today, which felt strangely tender in the middle of all the noise and exhaustion.

Oli, naturally, continues to believe every wool-related activity requires close corgi supervision.

I think I’m more tired than I realized.

Still, there were small good things today:

soft fiber running through the carder,

new colorways heading into the shop,

the sound of someone laughing after finally getting the batt texture right,

a dog asleep nearby while I worked.

Not every week arrives neatly organized and beautifully balanced. Some weeks are held together with tea, wool, and stubbornness.

And honestly? That still counts.

[foragersfleece]

Today was less about making new fiber and more about helping the finished fiber become itself.

Names, descriptions, fiber notes, weights, tags, all the little practical things that turn a batt or a rolag set into something ready to leave the studio. It is strange how much naming matters.

A pile of wool can be beautiful on its own, but once it has a name, it starts carrying a memory. A shoreline. An orchard trail. A greenhouse at night. A small flash of iridescent color. A handful of sprinkles scattered through a soft cloud.

There are still labels to type up, and I am absolutely pretending not to see them right now.

But the colors have names today, and that feels like progress.

[foragersfleece]

Today was a full dye day in the studio.

The kind where the sinks fill up with wool and skeins slowly take over every available surface.

Dye jars open.

Colors blooming in warm water.

More yarn than I expected somehow fitting into the tubs.

At one point I stepped back and realized there were forty skeins in various stages of becoming.

Right now it looks a little chaotic.

Some are still soaking.

Some are being rinsed.

And a whole shelf of fiber is now hanging quietly to dry.

This part always feels a little strange —

the moment between dyeing and finished yarn.

The colors are still settling,

the wool is still deciding what it wants to be.

Tomorrow they’ll be twisted into skeins.

But tonight the studio just looks like this.

Forty skeins and a lot of hope.