From Sheep to Sweater: Part 1 - Learning about VM

Sometimes I feel like I was born in the wrong time. And then I remember human rights, modern medicine, scientific discoveries, hygiene, travel, and not burning witches. So I guess I’ll stick with my own time, but I do lament the loss of some older crafting techniques. Which is how I find myself driving down rural roads on a cold and sunny winter morning with the trunk bungeed shut and an armchair hanging out the back. 

I guess some context would be helpful. If you don’t already know, I fell into the fiber arts during lockdown, when I got bored and needed to learn something new (this will be a constant theme). It started with hand sewing, but I dove deep down the rabbit hole and started to learn about textiles and materials, and about the environmental cost of fast fashion. So I began to make clothes from old sheets or (when I could afford it) wool and other natural fibers. That led me to a whole host of other crafts, including knitting, where I discovered that 100% wool yarn comes with a hefty pricetag. So I went down yet another rabbit hole and discovered that spinning your own yarn is still done nowadays (albeit as a pretty niche craft). With this newly hatched plan of spinning my own yarn (both due to frugality, but also a constant desire to learn to do things entirely by hand and without electricity), I found a farmer selling their raw fleeces (yay Kijiji) and off I dragged my partner (he’s the driver, not me).

And so here we find ourselves, standing in a barn that I can’t help feeling like Pinterest would be drooling over (if someone were to sweep the hay away and add some “rustic” aesthetic design elements). This one though is a functional barn, with bales of hay, geese, and some very rickety ladders. The sheep were off grazing in the distance, but the two farm dogs were by our sides, though one of them couldn’t decide if she’d prefer to hang out with us or try to eat the wool. We chatted for a while and I was shown the different fleeces, though having never picked (let alone seen) a raw fleece before I didn’t really know how to tell which were better than others, so Stephanie pointed out the ones she thought would be best for a beginner spinner like me. With the fleeces in garbage bags, we threw them in the car with the armchair, reluctantly said goodbye to the dogs, and headed home smelling a bit like a farm. 

Now’s where the fun really begins. After some research and getting my supplies, I opened up the first fleece, ready to pick out what is delicately referred to in the fiber arts world as “vegetable matter” (or VM), which is really just a polite way of saying poop and hay and whatever else the sheep gets into. And then I got overwhelmed, so I didn’t pick out anything, I just popped the entire fleece as is in a bathtub full of hot water and some Dawn dish soap. Would I later come to regret this? A bit. Did that stop me? It did not. 

I let that sucker soak for 30 minutes, desperately wanting to scrub but knowing that all my research said DO NOT AGITATE THE WOOL. So for the first time in my life, I followed the instructions and left it alone. My 30 minute timer chimed at me, and off I went to try and take the wool out of the tub without agitating it, which is the first of several times in the process I realized why most of my research said to put the fleece in mesh laundry bags. Oops. I did my best, scooping and piling the wool into a colander I had got for this specific purpose (I still don’t have one for food, I just tip the pot and hope for the best), and then realized I would need to put the colander somewhere, but I couldn’t seem to find a spot that I felt okay having that disgusting water, which can only be described as the colour of the richest dark chocolate hot chocolates, but with none of the deliciousness. So with the colander heavy in my hands as I stood frozen over the tub in a state of indecision, my partner rushed in with his empty trash can, and a hair strainer cover for the drain. That man has great timing. 

Wool piled high in the colander suspended over the trash can, I now had to deal with the forbidden hot chocolate water. This was the second time I understood the call for mesh laundry bags. As the water drained through the drain cover strainer, I constantly had to keep removing wool and “vegetable matter” so the water could keep draining. I was left with silty sludge, and a small mountain of bits that were destined for the garden (the benefit of the fleece and all the stuff in it is it can all be a nice addition to the garden.. Waste not want not I guess). I cleaned the tub, refilled it with hot water and Dawn soap, and put the fleece back in its bath, once again trying not to agitate it. 

And then I did it again. And again. And again. And again. And again. Six wash baths later and the water was less hot chocolate, more dirty puddle, but frankly I was tired and just wanted the process to be done, so I decided it was clean enough (I’m fairly sure the washing is more to get rid of lanolin than dirt, so I may have washed it too much. Once again, oops), and ready for some rinsing. The rinsing process was the same as the baths, just without the Dawn soap. The first rinse my research told me to add a splash of white vinegar to get rid of the remnant soap, so I did that (despite how much I hate the smell of vinegar), and then the second rinse was just plain hot water. 

Once all the washing and rinsing was done it was time to dry the wool. Once again the research said DO NOT WRING OUT THE WOOL, and they seemed pretty adamant, so I didn’t. I could have just let the wool air dry, but that would take a few days and I’m impatient and wanted to play with my wool already, so in lieu of the recommended salad spinner, I gently placed my wool in the washing machine on a spin cycle, to act like a giant salad spinner. Afterwards, while vacuuming up bits of wool and vegetable matter left inside my washing machine, I once again regretted not having put the wool in a mesh laundry bag.

The final step before the fun bit of carding, combing, and spinning, was to lay the mostly dry wool on a drying rack to thoroughly dry (though you know I immediately took a tiny and somewhat dry piece of wool to play with and try carding for the first time, which is another story for another day). Is it perfectly clean and clear of all bits of “vegetable matter”? Nope. Is the lock structure everyone talks about for combing and making worsted wool in tact? Nope (this is where the final time lamenting the missing mesh laundry bag came into play). Does that dampen my excitement to card and draft and spin my very first skein of handspun yarn? Not in the least bit. 

Should I have maybe started my spinning learning journey with pre-cleaned and pre-carded wool? Maybe, but as someone who jumps right in the deep end, that’s not really how I do things. It didn’t turn out perfectly, and I definitely made some mistakes along the way, but that’s how I learn. Plus I have three more fleeces to clean, dry, and spin, so hopefully at some point I’ll get the hang of it. Until then I’ll continue to try, make mistakes, learn, get excited about seemingly weird things, and fall down more rabbit holes. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some wool to play with.