If you've ever stood over a fresh fleece wondering where to start, you know that sorting wool is the messiest, most satisfying part of the whole process. There is something incredibly grounding about putting your hands into a pile of raw fiber that still smells like the hillside and a bit of sheep sweat. It's the bridge between the animal and the art. If you skip this step or rush through it, you're basically setting yourself up for a headache later on when you're trying to spin or felt something that just won't behave.
Why We Don't Just Wash Everything at Once
It's tempting, I know. You get a beautiful fleece, and you just want to dump the whole thing into a hot bath and see those white curls emerge. But here's the thing: a single sheep doesn't grow the same quality of wool all over its body. The wool on the shoulders is usually the prime stuff—soft, fine, and consistent. Then you've got the wool on the legs and the "britch" (the back end), which is often coarse, hairy, and, let's be honest, pretty gross.
If you don't spend time sorting wool before it hits the water, you end up with a blend of textures that makes it impossible to get a smooth, even yarn. You wouldn't mix silk and burlap and expect a soft sweater, right? Sorting is where you decide what this fleece is actually going to be.
Setting Up Your Space
Don't try to do this on your living room carpet. You'll be vacuuming up bits of dried grass and "sheep nuggets" for the next three years. Find a big table—an old door on sawhorses works perfectly—and try to do it somewhere with a lot of natural light. You need to see the subtle color changes and those tiny bits of vegetable matter (the "VM" as we call it) that like to hide in the locks.
I personally like to use a mesh-topped table if I can. That way, as you're moving the wool around, the dust, dirt, and second cuts (those tiny, annoying snippets of wool from the shearer going over the same spot twice) just fall through to the floor. It saves you so much cleaning time later.
The Difference Between Skirting and Sorting
People often use these terms like they're the same thing, but they're really two different stages of the job. Skirting is the "heavy lifting." This is where you pull off the really filthy edges, the heavy manure tags, and the bits that are just too full of burrs to be worth the effort. You're basically cleaning up the perimeter of the fleece.
Sorting wool, on the other hand, is the more refined sister. This is where you look at the remaining "clean" fleece and start separating it by quality. You're looking for things like staple length, fineness, and color. You might end up with three or four different piles from a single sheep. One pile for a next-to-skin soft shawl, another for some sturdy socks, and maybe a third for some rugged outer garments or even rug yarn.
Mapping the Fleece
If you lay the fleece out flat, skin-side down, it's like looking at a map of the sheep.
- The Shoulders and Sides: This is your "Grade A" stuff. It's usually the cleanest and finest wool on the whole animal.
- The Back: This can be great, but it's also where the sheep catches all the hay and rain. Keep an eye out for "weathering" here, where the tips might be a bit brittle.
- The Neck: Often very fine but can be a bit shorter and sometimes contains more "VM" because, well, sheep love to bury their heads in hay.
- The Britch: This is the lower back and haunches. It's almost always coarser. Don't throw it away, though! It's great for stuff that needs to take a beating, like boot liners or rugs.
What Your Hands Are Telling You
When you're sorting wool, your eyes are important, but your fingers are the real experts. You'll start to feel the "grease"—that's the lanolin. Some breeds, like Merinos, are so greasy they feel almost sticky. Others, like a Ryeland or a Southdown, feel much "drier."
As you move through the fleece, you're feeling for consistency. If a handful of wool feels significantly rougher than the piece you just put in the "soft" pile, move it. Don't overthink it. Trust your hands. If it feels scratchy to your fingers now, it's definitely going to feel scratchy against your neck later.
Checking for Soundness
This is a big one. You don't want to spend hours washing and carding wool only to have it crumble when you try to spin it. Grab a lock of wool, hold it near your ear, and give it a sharp snap (like you're snapping a piece of elastic).
If it makes a nice, clear "ping" sound, you're golden. But if it makes a dull "crackle" or, heaven forbid, just breaks in half, that wool is "tender." This usually happens if the sheep was sick or stressed while the wool was growing. A "break" in the wool means it's probably not going to survive the processing. It's better to find that out now during the sorting wool phase than after you've spent twenty bucks on expensive wool wash.
Dealing with the "Vegetable Matter"
Let's talk about the grass. And the burrs. And the seeds. If a fleece is absolutely "trashed" with VM, you have to decide if it's worth your time. Some people find picking out bits of hay meditative. Others (like me, on a bad day) find it infuriating.
When you're sorting wool, try to shake out as much as you can. If you find a patch that is just solid clover burrs, sometimes it's better to just cut your losses and toss that section. Your time has value, and some things just aren't worth the thumb cramps.
The Joy of the Process
It sounds like a lot of work, and I guess it is, but there's something really peaceful about it. When you're sorting wool, you're forced to slow down. You notice the way the light hits the crimp—that's the natural wave in the fiber. You see the subtle gradients of color, from creamy whites to smoky greys.
Every fleece is a story of a year in the life of an animal. You can see when the seasons changed. You can see if they had a particularly lush pasture in the spring. By the time you've finished sorting, you don't just have a pile of fiber; you have a relationship with the material you're about to work with.
Final Thoughts on Organization
Once you've got your piles, don't just shove them back into one big bag. Use mesh bags or breathable cotton bags. I like to label mine with the breed, the part of the fleece, and the date. You think you'll remember which pile was the "shoulder" and which was the "neck," but three months from now, it'll all just look like a big bag of fluff.
Taking the time for sorting wool properly is really the "secret sauce" of high-quality hand-spinning. It turns a "homemade" project into a "handcrafted" masterpiece. So, put on some music or a podcast, grab a pair of old gloves (if you're squeamish), and start diving in. Your future yarn will thank you.