About
A Loom Away
Every blanket starts with spinning. I hand spin the wool myself, working from roving until it becomes yarn soft enough to sleep under. On occasion I'll start even earlier, with a raw fleece I process myself, skirting, scouring, and carding before it's ever spun, but that's the exception, not the rule.
The warp is Harrisville Designs Shetland, chosen for its strength and structure to hold everything together on the loom.
Then it goes on the loom. Mine is 125 years old, a barn loom I found on Facebook Marketplace, the kind of piece that's outlived generations of hands before mine. It creaks in places, it has its quirks, and it makes every blanket a little different from the last. That's not a flaw. That's the point.
A Loom Away is my slow answer to a fast world. Each blanket takes weeks, not minutes. It's woven by one person, start to finish, with materials I trust and a process I've spent years learning by hand. Nothing here is mass produced, and nothing is meant to be.
If you're holding one of these blankets, you're holding hours of quiet, careful work. That's what I make. That's what I hope you feel.
About A Loom Away
For a while, I'd been wanting a loom. One of the last rag rugs my grandma had made finally fell apart, and I wanted to weave some replacements. Floor looms were expensive, so I was close to just building a simple frame out of 2x4s — until I came across a Facebook Marketplace listing for a floor loom. It was just a pile of wood. No assembled photos, no guarantees, just the seller's word that all the pieces were there and it had worked the last time it was put together. She told me it was over 125 years old, handmade, and had once belonged to her father-in-law's mother, who kept it in a chicken coop. It was $400. I bought it.
That pile of wood turned into an obsession. Weaving led to spinning, spinning led to fiber arts, fiber arts led to processing raw fleeces from local farms. That $400 loom is still the heart of this studio.