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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

1. Map your fiber circle. Search for farms, mills, and fiber festivals within 100 miles.
2. Visit and listen. Talk to shepherds and small producers—they love sharing their process.
3. Start small. Buy one skein from a local farm and use it in your next project.
4. 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.

You get purchase my new ebook here!

🪡 With gratitude and woolly warmth,
Grannie Doll 🩷
Living the 100 Mile Life, one stitch at a time.