There is a quiet day tucked into the calendar each year — January 6 — known as Distaff Day. Long before resolutions and productivity planners, this was the day when women would begin the year’s spinning and making. It was not about speed. It was about intention.
I love that.
For me, Distaff Day has become a gentle beginning to my creative year. I don’t rush into projects. I sit by the window with my wool basket. I hold a warm cup of coffee. I let my hands remember their rhythm.
This year, I am stepping into my making with eight gentle intentions. These are not rules but a way of caring for my hands, my home, and my heart.
1. I Will Make Slowly
Not to finish first. Not to keep up. But to let my hands enjoy the work they were given.
2. I Will Choose Wool with a Story
Local when I can. Hand-touched when possible. Fibre that feels like it belongs in my home and my life.
3. I Will Honour the Quiet Days
The days when a few rows are enough. When spinning a little is still faithful making.
4. I Will Make What Is Useful and Loved
Socks for warm feet. Shawls for gentle shoulders. Blankets that wrap stories into stitches.
5. I Will Release Perfection
Crooked stitches still carry love. Uneven yarn still holds warmth.
6. I Will Keep My Basket Simple
Fewer projects. More presence.
7. I Will Let Making Be My Prayer
Each stitch a breath. Each spin a quiet offering.
8. I Will End My Days Gently
Putting my wool away with gratitude. Leaving my hands at rest, not rushed.
A Closing Word
Before I take my first spin of the year, I pause with this blessing:
“May the favor of the Lord our God rest on us; establish the work of our hands for us— yes, establish the work of our hands.” — Psalm 90:17
May your hands be steady and your heart unhurried. May your basket hold only what your spirit can carry. May your making bring warmth into this world — into homes, into hearts, into quiet corners where comfort is needed most.
Go gently into this creative year. Your making is a blessing.
Some days, knitting is nothing but comfort. It is the soft click of needles. It includes the steady rhythm of stitches. It brings the quiet joy of watching something grow beneath our hands.
And some days… it teaches us patience.
Lately, I’ve been sitting with a sock project that hasn’t quite gone the way I imagined. The yarn is lovely, the pattern is beautiful — but together they’re asking more of me than I expected. There have been pauses. Frogged rows. A few deep sighs. And more than once, I’ve had to remind myself that not every project is meant to be easy.
At the same time, I’ve been finding comfort in working on my Northerly Blanket — a slower, gentler make that feels like wrapping myself in quiet winter evenings. It’s become my place of rest, the project I reach for when I need my hands to remember calm again.
These moments have reminded me that even “imperfect” projects have something to offer. They teach us new skills, stretch our patience, and gently invite us to grow. Every stitch — even the ones we redo — still carries learning, intention, and care.
So if you’re working on something that feels tricky right now, take heart. You’re not behind. You’re not doing it wrong. You’re simply learning — and that, too, is beautiful.
As the season grows quieter, I hope you’ll stay safe, stay cozy, and keep making with grace. Let your projects meet you where you are, and trust that every stitch still matters.
Welcome, friends. I’m Granny Doll from DollCanCreate, living the 100 Mile Life and leaning deeply into slow, creative living. Today is Vlogmas Day 20 — and yes, this is the second time I’ve written (and recorded) this. Technology happens. We take a breath. And we begin again.
After a busy day of being out and doing the work that I do, I knew I needed to decompress. I needed to put my feet up and rest my body. Letting my spirit catch up was also necessary. So today looks like this:
A fireplace warming the room. Christmas lights flicking on quietly by timer. A candle that smells like cookies (yes, really). A soft, calm pause in the middle of December’s rush.
And because it’s Vlogmas — or as I like to call it, Spindlemas — there’s also knitting.
On the Needles: Familiar Comfort
I’m still working on this lovely Shropshire fibre on my favourite spindle. I’ve officially cast on the second fingerless mitten. These are one of my go-to patterns — cozy, familiar, and comforting.
They feature:
A beautiful cabled pattern along the hand
A simple knit section above
A 3×1 rib at the cuff
As soon as I finished the first mitten, I cast on the second — just like socks. Momentum matters when you’re knitting and when you’re tired.
I’ll link the pattern below if you’re interested — it’s one I return to again and again.
Looking Ahead: The 12 Days of Christmas Cast-On
Today I’ll also be casting on something new as part of my 12 Days of Christmas Cast-On. Most likely, I will choose socks. I have so many new sock patterns waiting patiently.
I’m working with a gorgeous peacock blue hand-dyed sock yarn, and there are also:
Two pairs of slippers waiting to be made
Socks currently on the needles (I’ll show those next time)
There’s a lot on the plate — but the kind of “a lot” that feels joyful, not heavy.
Real Life in the Middle of Advent
Beyond the knitting, life is humming along:
Christmas cards are ready for worship tomorrow
Baking and gift-wrapping are still to come
Rest is firmly on the to-do list (and yes, it counts)
I also have a couple of extra worship services coming up — but I’m prepared. The planning is done. I’m ready to show up fully, without scrambling.
Advent, after all, is about preparation — of our homes, our hearts, and our lives. But it’s also the season of darkness, especially here in winter.
Solstice Reflections & Small Celebrations
Tomorrow, December 21st — the winter solstice — is also Nick’s and my wedding anniversary. Twenty years married.
We celebrated early with a late lunch/early supper because tomorrow will be full — but the moment mattered. And during the solstice, I think that’s especially important: finding something to celebrate in the midst of it all.
Whether it’s:
Family gatherings
Candlelight
Remembering loved ones who are no longer with us
All of it matters. All of it is holy.
A Gentle Reminder for Today
It may be cold. It may be dark. It may be windy, rainy, snowy — all at once.
Your house may not be perfect. But your heart is.
And whatever is held in your heart today is enough.
So for now, and for today, I wish you warmth, rest, and gentleness with yourself. Vlogmas is almost over — but we’re not quite done yet. The 12 Days of Christmas Cast-On are just around the corner, and there’s still more to share.
Thank you for being here. Thank you for walking this slow, creative, faith-filled path with me.
There’s something about spindle spinning that always feels like coming home.
In the middle of December, the days are short. The calendar is full, and the world seems a little louder than usual. I find myself reaching for my spindle. Not because I have to. But because I want to. It reminds me to slow down, to breathe, and to let my hands do something quiet and good.
If you’re new to spindle spinning, you are doing better than you think. Even if you’ve tried it once or twice and felt unsure, know this right from the start. You’re doing better than you think.
Beginning Where You Are
One of the first things I share in today’s video is how I make a leader. Sometimes I use a bit of pre-spun yarn. Sometimes I make one right from the fiber itself. Both ways are just fine. There’s no rule book here—only gentle guidance and curiosity.
Spindle spinning isn’t about perfection. It’s about learning how the fiber responds, how the twist travels, and how your hands naturally move. Every spindle has its own rhythm, and every spinner does too.
Wrapping, Spinning, and Letting Go
I also show how I wrap the fiber around the spindle to get started. This simple step can feel intimidating at first, but once you’ve done it a few times, it becomes second nature. A wrap, a twist, a pause. Over and over again.
In the video, I’m using one of my favorite 3D-printed spindle—this one doesn’t even have a hook! And yes, that can feel a bit tricky at first. But with a secure wrap and a little patience, it spins beautifully. It’s a good reminder that tools don’t have to be fancy or traditional to be useful. They just have to work for you.
An Invitation to Experiment
If there’s one thing I hope you take away from this, it’s permission.
Permission to experiment. Permission to try different methods. Permission to set the spindle down and come back later.
Spinning has been part of human life for thousands of years. No two people have ever done it exactly the same way. Your spinning doesn’t need to look like mine—or anyone else’s—to be right.
A Quiet Practice for Busy Seasons
During Advent and Vlogmas, spindle spinning has become a small daily ritual for me. Just a few minutes at a time. A way to ground myself, to pray without words, and to remember that slow things still matter.
If you’re spinning along with me this season, I’m so glad you’re here. And if you’re just watching and learning, that’s just as lovely.
🧶 May your fiber be forgiving, your spindle steady, and your heart at ease.
So welcome, dear friends. Day Seven of Vlogmas is here. Today I’m settling into my comfy rocking chair. I have that beautiful red wool you may have seen me pull from my basket. I’m working with my Dealgan—well, trying to. (Scottish Spindle) The camera didn’t want to cooperate, and the spindle certainly lived up to its name: drop spindle.
But that’s part of the charm, isn’t it? A bit of laughter, a bit of wool, and a whole lot of grace.
I picked up this spindle years ago at a fiber festival in Almonte, Ontario. I don’t use it often, but every once in a while it calls to me. Something about switching up tools brings a new rhythm to my hands and a freshness to the craft.
Today, I’m spinning a hand-dyed Shetland. I wish I could remember the dyer, but Shetland itself is one of my favourites—soft, lively, and full of character. I wind the leader through the cross at the bottom. Then, I bring it back up to the top. I give it a half-hitch and let the spindle go again.
This is my quiet joy on Day Seven.
Yesterday’s spin was different: a soft Barbie-pink Merino, a little two-ply that turned out beautifully. It will join the other colours in my blanket jar—my slow-growing rainbow of December.
What Are You Spinning? What Are You Creating?
I would love to know. Are you spinning along for Vlogmas? Knitting something soft and comforting? Trying a new craft that keeps your hands and heart grounded?
Leave a comment below and let me know what’s on your needles, hooks, or spindle this week.
Spinning as a Practice of Hope
At church this weekend, I spoke about hope. I reflected on Ezekiel’s valley of dry bones. Those bones rose to life when God breathed upon them.
I keep thinking about how our craft mirrors that story.
Every time we spin a rolag, knit a row, or weave a few inches, we are quietly hoping:
hoping the yarn will be strong,
hoping the project will come together,
hoping we are learning even when we make mistakes,
hoping that the small work of our hands somehow leads to beauty.
Our craft is a form of hope. A hope for the future. A hope that even tired hands can create something meaningful.
And all the while, we sit in our cozy corners. Rocking chairs comfort us, with cats nearby and tea cooling on the side table. We think about the future in gentle, manageable ways.
Because out there, in the world of news headlines and endless commentary, it can feel like everything is coming undone. Some days, it is hard. Grief is real. December can stir up memories we weren’t expecting, or emotions we thought we’d tucked away.
So I return to what grounds me:
“Whatever is true, whatever is lovely, whatever is pure, whatever is of good report…”
These are the things I choose to think on. These are the things we craft toward.
And one of those lovely things is you. Thank you for being here with me.
If You’re Enjoying These Vlogmas Moments…
Please don’t forget to:
Like the video
Subscribe to the channel
Share with a friend who needs a little December calm
I’m aiming for a video every single day for Vlogmas—my goal and my little offering of joy this Advent season.
We’ve just entered Week Two of Advent, and next week we move into Joy. How wonderful is that?
From My Home to Yours
Hi, I’m Granny Doll—also known as Doll from DollCanCreate, living the 100 Mile Life and enjoying every moment I can. I’m creating whether I’m in my rocking chair spinning wool with my kitty beside me. I’m creating while stirring a pot in the kitchen. I’m also creating when I write quietly on my blog. And I believe with all my heart that you can create too.
So tell me:
What are you working on right now?
Are you still deep in holiday gift-making?
Or are you turning toward something just for you? (A little self-care crafting never hurt anyone!)
Let’s talk about what our hands and hearts are connected to this Advent season.
For now, dear ones, this is Granny Doll signing off. I care for you. I’m thinking of you. And I pray God blesses you with peace, comfort, and creativity.
Welcome back, dear friends. It’s Grannie Doll here. I’m settling in with a cup of something warm. I’m living my 100-Mile Life one peaceful, wool-filled moment at a time.
This week, as part of Spindlemas, I found myself drawn back to a question many beginning spinners ask:
“How many kinds of spindles are out there—and how many does a spinner really need?”
Well… pull up a chair. Today I’m opening up my own spindle basket. I will share stories from the past twenty-one years of spinning joy. I will talk about learning curves and the quiet magic of handmade tools.
My First Spindle: Where It All Began
Every maker has that one tool that started it all. Mine is a sturdy little drop spindle from 2004. It is hand-painted and well-loved. The paint is now gently wearing away after decades of use.
When I hold it, I remember those early days—fumbling fingers, lumpy yarn, and that unmistakable spark of Oh! I can make this myself.
That spark has carried me a long way.
Black Spruce and Alaskan Memories
Not long after, my husband Nick carved me a lightweight spindle from Black Spruce in Fairbanks, Alaska.
The bark has thinned over time, the wood mellowed, but it still spins fast and true. I can almost hear the quiet of the Alaskan woods every time the whirl turns.
These tools hold memories as much as they hold wool.
Spindle Exchange Surprises
Some treasures arrive by mail.
Years ago, during a spindle exchange, I received a sweet little hand-painted spindle. It was light as air. It was clearly fashioned from a drawer pull. Creative, whimsical, and full of charm.
Another exchange brought me a brightly colored whorl. It still spins beautifully. It is a little chipped from life, but so am I. Aren’t we all?
And yes… tucked among the collection is a tahkli spindle. It has a metal shaft and bead whorl. It is gorgeous and mysterious. It still whispers, “You’ll learn me someday.”
One day, little spindle. One day.
The Spindles I Reach for Most
Like many spinners, I have favourites that become old friends.
My Ashford Pair
A tiny light Ashford that spins like a dragonfly’s wing.
A larger Ashford that once met the wrong end of a dog’s teeth. A little tape, a lot of forgiveness, and she still spins beautifully.
My Beloved Unknown-Maker Spindle
Purchased somewhere near Owen Sound, this dark wooden beauty is my go-to for plying. The tip is finely crafted, the spin steady and long. She feels like poetry in the hand.
The Celtic Spindle
3D-printed, light, with a triskele design that feels rooted in ancient story. It spins like a dream—modern meets myth.
Moose-Mark Spindles
A pair from the Almonte Fiber Festival, each with a tiny moose on the underside. They’re balanced, strong, and perfect for plying.
My New Support Spindle
A recent adventure. Metal tip, beautifully made, still leaving me humble and hopeful. Support spindle spinning is on my “learn this well” list for 2026.
And then… the Turkish Treasure
This one is pure joy.
Made by Helen—whose motto is “Sawdust is my glitter.” Smooth, elegant, satisfying in the hands, and spinning as gracefully as a leaf falling through still air.
What I Spin With These Tools
A spindle is only half the story. The fiber tells the rest.
Right now in my basket:
A golden BFL dyed with Wilton’s food coloring
A soft pink Merino blend from last Distaff Day
A deep botanical-dyed BFL (onion skins + avocado = magic)
My Shetland mittens—white for one pair, and a beautifully varied Shropshire fiber for another
A cheerful pink hand-dyed skein working its way into a Heel Toe Do-Si-Do sock
And yes, sometimes my colors clash with my shirt. That’s part of the charm.
Where Wheel and Spindle Meet
You already know I spin my sweater yarn on the wheel. But what about the mittens, scarves, hats, and the bits that feel more intimate and slow? Those come from the spindle.
There’s something grounding about holding a tool that fits in the palm of your hand. You feel the twist travel through your fingers. You realize you are the engine.
Slow, steady, soulful.
A Peek Behind the Scenes
If you’ve watched my Spindlemas videos, you’ve probably seen:
The lavender vase beside my spindles
The Folgers tub blocking the cat from pressing random printer buttons
My plastic bowl full of tools—scissors, needles, bits and bobs every crafter keeps nearby
This is real life, Grannie-Core at its finest: cozy, functional, imperfect, and full of love.
A Question for You
What is your favourite sheep breed to spin or knit with? Mine, so far, is Shetland—lofty, springy, forgiving, and perfect for the slow-living rhythm I crave.
Tell me yours in the comments so we can start a lively woolly conversation.
A Closing Thought for Advent
Whether you’re celebrating Christmas, lighting Advent candles, or simply leaning into the hush of winter…
Let’s prepare our hearts for a world that is gentler, kinder, more hopeful.
Handwork teaches us that small things—twists of fiber, quiet moments, patient stitches—add up to something much bigger than we imagined.
From my home to yours, this is Grannie Doll living the 100-Mile Life.
Like, subscribe, share if this warmed your heart—and remember:
Late November has always felt like a hinge in the year. It is that quiet, often-overlooked moment between autumn’s last colours and the gentle hush before Advent. The world is slowing down, even if the stores and schedules insist on doing the opposite. And here, in this pause, I find myself reaching for handmade peace.
Not perfection. Not productivity. Just… peace. Peace crafted slowly. Peace grown stitch by stitch. Peace rediscovered in the things made by loving hands.
The Softening of November
There’s a softness to these late-November days. The last leaves let go. The skies turn a shade of warm grey. My kettle works overtime, and the house seems to lean inward just a little.
This is the season where my Grannie-Core heart feels most at home. There are blankets on chairs and woolen socks on my feet. A candle burns while I tidy up the kitchen after supper. The pace of the world shifts, and I shift with it.
In these two weeks before Advent, I’m not rushing. I’m returning.
Knitting Peace Into the Everyday
Most mornings start the same way. I have a cup of tea. A knitted blanket is wrapped over my knees. I work on a few quiet rows of whatever project is calling my name. Lately it’s been mittens. Warm, sturdy, practical mittens knit from my own DK handspun — a rich brown I spun earlier in the year.
There’s something healing about watching your own wool become something useful. Something about the rhythm of it — knit, purl, breathe again.
Knitting reminds me that peace doesn’t arrive in grand gestures. It grows in tiny movements. One stitch at a time. One row after the next. A little like faith, a little like prayer.
And this time of year? My knitting slows down my heartbeat in the best possible way.
Spinning as a Path Back to Stillness
While knitting fills my mornings, spinning restores my afternoons. I don’t rush at my wheel or my spindle this time of year. I let the twist build gently. I feel the wool between my fingers. I remember that this is old work — ancient work — sacred work.
Late November spinning always feels like a conversation with my grandmother. She didn’t rush her hands. She didn’t force a rhythm. She understood that handmade things carry more than fibre — they carry memory.
And in that, I find peace.
Sometimes I spin local fawn wool; sometimes I blend colours softly. Sometimes I just sit with the motion, letting the spindle turn until the world slows down beside me.
The 100-Mile Life: Peace on a Plate
Handmade peace for me also happens in the kitchen.
This is the season of root vegetables, local honey, hearty soups, and earthy flavours. Simple, humble, beautiful food from farms not far from my doorstep. A pot of carrots and sweet potatoes simmers on the stove. It feels just as comforting as a wool blanket over my feet.
Living a 100-Mile Life in late November feels grounding. It feels as though I’m part of the land that’s preparing to rest. The meals aren’t complicated. They’re just enough. Enough warmth. Enough nourishment. Enough peace.
There’s a deep comfort in cooking with what’s close to home.
Peace as a Practice
As the nights grow longer and the mornings darker, I find myself leaning into slow routines:
A candle lit before breakfast
A few rows of knitting while the kettle boils
A quiet moment at the window, watching the sky
A simple prayer whispered between tasks
A soft landing into the evening with wool in my hands
Peace isn’t a feeling we stumble into. It’s a practice. A rhythm. A handmade thing.
These last two weeks of November invite us to breathe. They encourage us to make room. We should prepare our hearts for the season of light.
A Gentle Blessing for Your November
If your days feel rushed, may you find one slow moment today. If you feel pulled in too many directions, may your hands return to something soft and grounding. And if your heart is carrying heaviness, may a small handmade moment bring you back to peace.
Peace that is steady. Peace that is quiet. Peace that is born from the work of your hands.
“May your yarn never tangle, your stitches stay kind, and your spirit spin gently toward peace.” Grannie Doll
There’s something quietly revolutionary about knitting with yarn that hasn’t traveled farther than you have. So much arrives by truck, plane, or cargo ship. In contrast, the idea of local wool feels like an act of stewardship. It is grown, shorn, spun, and dyed within a hundred miles. It connects our hands to our land.
The Story Behind Local Wool
When I began exploring the 100 Mile Life, I thought mostly about food. Local apples, farm-fresh eggs, and bread from the mill down the road were on my mind. But soon, I found myself tracing another thread—wool. Where did the yarn in my basket come from? Whose sheep had offered their fleece? Was there a mill close enough to spin it into something beautiful?
The answers were closer than I imagined. A small flock of Shetlands grazing in the next township. A local mill humming beside the river. A dyer who uses plants gathered from her own garden. Each step, within that hundred-mile circle, felt like re-discovering the rhythms of home.
Spinning for Socks: From Fleece to Footwear
This season, I’ve been spinning with socks in mind—turning local fleece into sturdy, beautiful yarn that can handle daily wear. There’s a deep satisfaction in transforming raw fiber into something so practical and personal. Each draft of the spindle feels like a prayer, each twist a meditation on patience and purpose.
Sock yarn needs just the right balance of softness and strength. A little Shetland or BFL for durability, a touch of Merino or alpaca for comfort. When you’ve spun and plied the wool yourself, you know its story. You know what farm it came from and which sheep. You also understand how the fiber behaved in your hands. It gives new meaning to “putting your best foot forward.”
Knitting Socks that Stay Close to Home
Knitting socks from local wool is a small act of grace. Each stitch carries warmth from the land beneath your feet, quite literally grounding you in your community. Handspun yarn adds a touch of unpredictability. Those subtle color shifts and texture changes remind me that perfection isn’t the goal. Connection is.
There’s joy in knowing that every step I take in these socks is supported by a circle of care. The shepherd, spinner, knitter, and home soil are all woven together. It’s slow fashion at its most intimate, and every pair becomes a quiet testimony to place, patience, and provision.
Why It Matters
When we knit with local wool, we’re not just making socks or shawls—we’re investing in our neighbors. Every skein carries the story of a shepherd, a spinner, a maker who lives nearby. It reduces transport costs, supports small farms, and encourages sustainable land use.
And there’s another layer of warmth that comes from knitting local. The texture of local fleece often reflects the land itself—soft and sturdy, windswept and rooted. When I hold a skein from a nearby farm, I can almost hear the echo of the fields. I can also hear the hum of the spinning wheel.
Living the 100 Mile Way
Living local isn’t about restriction—it’s about relationship. It means knowing the hands that feed and clothe us. It means buying less, but cherishing more. It’s walking into a farm store and greeting people by name. It’s mending a sweater instead of replacing it.
This autumn, as the nights grow cooler, I’m wrapping myself in that slow, local warmth. My projects for October are built from within that 100 mile circle—simple knits with a story in every stitch.
How to Start Your Own Local Wool Journey
Map your fiber circle. Search for farms, mills, and fiber festivals within 100 miles.
Visit and listen. Talk to shepherds and small producers—they love sharing their process.
Start small. Buy one skein from a local farm and use it in your next project.
Share the story. When someone compliments your hat or shawl, tell them where it came from.
Every local project begins with one conscious choice.
Reflection & Faith
“She seeks wool and flax, and works with willing hands.” — Proverbs 31:13
When we live and create within our local circle, we echo a sacred rhythm of gratitude and provision. The earth gives; we receive; and through our craft, we give back beauty.
Now it’s your turn:
What’s growing or grazing within your 100 mile circle? Could your next skein—or your next pair of cozy socks—come from a nearby farm or mill? I’d love to hear about your discoveries. You can share your local wool stories in the comments. Tag me with #100MileWool on Instagram.
There’s something magical about opening a box of fibre. The colours, the textures, the promise of what it will become. When my Provenance Fibre Club subscription from Julia arrived, I couldn’t wait to dive in. Each braid held not just fibre—but a story.
As I unwrapped each treasure, I felt my excitement grow. But it also reminded me of the bigger question: why source wool locally?
Connection to Place
When we choose local fibre, we’re literally spinning the land around us. Each lock carries the imprint of the farm, the fields, and the seasons. It’s a way of holding our home in our hands.
Supporting Farmers and Makers
Behind every fleece is a shepherd who has cared for those animals through storms and sunshine. By sourcing locally, we honour their work and help keep small farms thriving.
Sustainability
Local wool travels fewer miles to reach us. That means less fuel, less packaging, and a gentler footprint on the earth. It’s one small but meaningful way to live in harmony with our values.
Unique Character
Local breeds raised in particular climates develop distinct textures and qualities. These fibres can’t be replicated elsewhere—they are one-of-a-kind.
Storytelling
Every skein spun from local wool carries a story. It’s not just yarn—it’s the voice of the farm, the shepherd, and the land. When we knit or weave, we share that story with others.
As I spin through my Provenance Fibre Club box, I imagine: this is more than fibre. It’s connection, sustainability, and creativity wrapped up together.
If you’ve never tried local wool, let this be your invitation. Visit a nearby farm, sign up for a local fibre club, or swap with a neighbour. Discover the joy of spinning stories that belong to your own backyard.
Every skein has a story, and every stitch holds a place. May your fibre journey keep you rooted, keep you warm, and keep you close to home. Until next time, spin gently and live locally.
I reflect on a fiber that has been part of my life for so long. That fiber is wool. It may seem like a simple thing. It is a skein of yarn spun from a sheep’s fleece. Nevertheless, for me and for many of us living closer to the land, wool carries a story that’s worth telling.
Wool Is Local
When I choose wool from nearby farms, I’m not just buying yarn. I’m supporting shepherds, small mills, and rural communities who care for their flocks with dedication. Each skein connects me to the fields, pastures, and farmers within my 100-mile circle.
Wool Is Sustainable
Wool is renewable, biodegradable, and natural. Unlike synthetic fibers that linger in landfills, wool eventually returns to the soil, nourishing it. It’s a beautiful example of creation’s design—what’s given to us can also be returned with care.
Wool Is Practical
It’s warm in winter, breathable in summer, and it resists odours in ways synthetic fibers can’t match. A well-made wool garment can last for decades, passed down through families like a quilt of memory and comfort.
Wool Is Comfort
For me, spinning, knitting, or simply handling wool has always been calming. It quiets my racing thoughts and steadies my heart. In every stitch, there’s a prayer. There’s a rhythm of stillness. It connects me to God’s peace and the slow work of my hands.
A Gentle Reminder
Wool is important for many reasons. It is more than a material. It signifies a way of living simply. It involves caring for the earth and honoring those who bring it to us. When we wrap ourselves in wool, we wrap ourselves in connection.
💬 Let’s Talk
Do you have a favorite wool story? Maybe a cozy blanket, a beloved sweater, or even a project on your needles right now? Share it in the comments—I’d love to hear!
👉 If you’d like to follow along on this journey of slow, local living, make sure you’re subscribed. Subscribe to my YouTube channel to stay updated. Subscribing will keep you updated on new content. I share each day of the 30-Day 100 Mile Life Challenge there. Together, we’re discovering that living closer to home brings us closer to what really matters.
🌸 With gratitude, living life 1 stitch at a time, Grannie Doll
