How I Choose a Wool

People ask how I choose a wool, and the truth is that I let it choose me. I sit with a skein for ten minutes, in silence, and I listen. A good merino will give a small sigh. A good alpaca will almost purr. A bad acrylic will do nothing at all, which is how I know to send it away with a kind word and a cheque.

This week, I chose a lovely oatmeal from a sheep named Gwendolyn in the north, who sends me eleven kilograms a season and a postcard. She writes that the weather is mild. I write back that the weather here is also mild and that her wool is exceptional. This is the whole of our correspondence, and it has lasted nine years. I think it is the best I have ever had.