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@winsomwool

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a well tended life
shepherding a fibre flock
stories of land, hands and harvest

POSTS STORIES REELS TAGGED

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two good sheep & the promise of lambs.
five months until we meet them by @winsomwool

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3 days ago

I first spotted this little cardigan at @fibreswest 2025 and passed it by. Felted, over-dyed, its original buttons replaced. But on the drive home, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. A quick message and the vendor agreed to mail it to me if it hadn’t sold.

So it came to Abi’s closet, where it’s been worn ever since.

Last week, while washing it, I noticed the flat stitched seams. I looked again at the label “hand knit”!

I found a 1967 photograph of an adult cardigan with similar cables, and a 1965 advertisement for children’s versions of adult classics.

After a little more research I learned the Irish knitwear company, Kennedy of Ardara, had employed over 2000 home knitters across northwest Ireland between the 1950s and 1980s.

I wonder about the hands that made this cardigan.
Did the knitter imagine a small child kept warm on her adventures, as I do when I knit?
Or was this simply a way to make ends meet?

I doubt they could have imagined a little girl on the other side of the world, more than forty years later, wearing the wool they knitted.

And yet, here she is. by @winsomwool

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6 days ago

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sometimes I am quite gleefully thinking about
how much colour goes unnoticed.

these were collected one morning in July
dahlias & yarrow from my garden,
a weed growing in the pasture,
then a few leaves and fallen green walnuts
from the edge of the fence.

hues tucked into fading leaves,
quietly present in spent flowers,
the little bits of beauty that will linger in my making.

this palette is at your fingertips, too by @winsomwool

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8 days ago

Sorcha by @winsomwool

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11 days ago

today’s whimsy.

farm yarn dyed with plants,
knit with my hands,
stuffed with more wool.

now.

one is hanging from a truck mirror,
one has home in a toy box,
and the other is off to kindergarten.

Blue approved. by @winsomwool

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13 days ago

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Sheep of Winsom · 2027

Twelve sheep.
Twelve months.
A year among the flock.

5 × 7 in · $22 CAD
Available now at Winsom Farm. by @winsomwool

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17 days ago

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hills holding mist.

windfalls gathered.

a call across the field.

wool moving towards me.

among the flock.

morning carrying on. by @winsomwool

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23 days ago

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the light was like this
& then it was gone by @winsomwool

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a month ago

Is autumn unfolding where you are, too?

I was going to spend this season making things with wool and spend as much time outside as I could.

Then life interrupted me.

But I’m going to invite you over anyway.

Let’s gather around and chat about pinecones, fungi, wool sweaters both
on our bodies and on our needles.

Bring a friend.

**more details to follow**

Knitting for the Weather KAL
September 22 — December 21

#knittingfortheweather by @winsomwool

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a month ago

Broken Wing

sight of my notepad
and a ballpoint
makes my heart hurt.

A sweater cuff
begging to be knit.

Summer slipping toward fall,
and my hand too broken
to capture it.

After only two days,
I would be so grateful
to hold a shovel.

Have you ever tried
coiling a hose
with your left hand?

Or buttering toast?

how quickly the ordinary
becomes precious.

small things, mundane things.
The things I never thought
to be grateful for.

I thought the injury
would be the hurt.

I found another kind of ache
in the slipping of days.

season turning.
work waiting.
sweater unfinished.
pen still.

somewhere in my small troubles.
I catch a glimpse
of the pain other people carry…

not only the injury itself,
but the loss of the ordinary.

quiet grief
of a life interrupted.

is this what
a broken wing
has come to teach me?

how much of a life
is held
in the smallest things. by @winsomwool

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a month ago

Yesterday morning, a friend and I met at an outdoor café beneath tall, mossy cedars.

There was just a nip of chill, so she reached into her bag and took out a handknit vest for my daughter.

Mikeila sipped a London Fog.
I had my regular Chai Latte.
We pulled out our knitting.

Hers was a delightful brick-red cardigan, finished with delicate wooden toggles. Mine was a little striped sweater for my grandson, probably outgrown by the time I finish it.

We chatted about the places we had been this summer and the spots we each love to return to this season.

The sounds of the creek filled the little lulls in our conversation.

Nearby, our daughters began sharing pencils, paper, pancakes and stamps.

Eventually, they grew restless and began to explore.

A maple leaf appeared between us, tucked carefully into my book.

Then came a collection of rocks, piled across the table to make tiny bridges for field mice.

Eventually, our measuring tapes and scissors found their way into little pairs of hands.

The needles found a rhythm.

So did the conversation.

#knittingfortheweather by @winsomwool

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a month ago

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“Over time, the sounds of the farm become a language.”

I didn’t start journaling.
I thought I’d run out of words to share.
Several months of writing,
seventh Field Note published.
Somehow, I built a little home for my thoughts.
Will you brew a cup of tea with me to celebrate? by @winsomwool

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a month ago