I've been procrastinating on this post all week, which is silly, seeing as how much I love wool and how excited I am for Wovember. Also, work keeps getting in the way, which is equal parts annoying and reassuring. But what's really holding me back is the doubt that I can say anything about wool that's truly new. Every post I've started and stopped has felt like I'm regurgitating facts for a research paper and not adding anything new to the conversation.
To be sure, wool has some amazing properties.
It's resilient and long wearing, but it can also be soft and cuddly. It's not prone to mildew and it doesn't harbor bacteria and dust mites the way other materials do. It will keep you warm at night - or anytime, for that matter. It's flame retardant. It's a renewable resource.
But none of these things explains why I love wool so much. They're great qualities and good talking points, but they're missing something.
Wool is more than all those things.
Wool is a connection to the land, whether close by or far away - a sheep had to live off that land through good weather and bad.
Wool is a connection to the shepherd, who looked after the sheep day in and day out.
Wool is a connection to a way of life, once seen as normal and necessary, now almost faded into a distant memory.
Wool is what runs through my hands while I spin yarn and chat with my husband.
Wool is what I'm working with w hen I sit alone at my loom.
Wool is what I'm knitting with on road trips with my family.
Wool is what fills the cracks and corners of my life - in my home, in my wardrobe, even at work, wool is always there. It keeps me warm. It keeps my hands busy. With it, wearing it, loving it keeps me happy.
Wool is all these things. And more.
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