–Arola Oluwehinmi
Photo by Bronwen Pailthorpe
I was in the car with two of my friends, and we were riding through the rolling hills of Charlottesville, Virginia, on a bright Sunday morning. Windows down, we were shamelessly drinking in the sweet, rural air as we continued the drive to our destination. The sun illuminated the passing animals and plush landscapes in a way that could only occur in the most natural of environments, and it was confirmation that we had successfully escaped from the city. When we pulled up to a gravel driveway where a woman with kind eyes and a smiling sheepdog was waiting for us, we knew that it would be a good day. We had arrived at Ringadal Farm.
Located just southwest of Shenandoah National Park, Ringadal is home to bespoke textile artist and farmer Susan Skalak, along with her husband, children, and several animals.
It’s also home to all of Susan’s original and sustainable creations, from regeneratively grown wool and mohair coats to hand-dyed shawls. What makes Susan’s work so unique is the fact that she sources all of her material right from the farm. I had met Susan at a reception a few weeks earlier, and when I heard that she was literally producing her own textiles, I knew I had to see the process for myself.
Upon our arrival, Susan immediately led us to her barn, an impressive structure with piles of wool decorating the interior. Surrounded by her materials in their purest form, it didn’t take long for me to start asking questions—or for Susan to start giving answers.
“I was a mechanical engineering professor,” said Susan.
You might be wondering how this kind of background would lead Susan to her current trade—so was I. Thankfully, she didn’t leave me in the dark for long. She went on to explain that after becoming pregnant with her first child, she left academia to spend more time with her children.
The family eventually settled in Bainbridge Island, a charming, storybook town off the coast of Seattle. It was there that Susan became the owner of the local fabric store.
“The fabric store has been there since 1959,” explained Susan, “It’s always been owned by women who lived on the island. And so it went up for sale, and I convinced my husband to buy it. We bought it, and I ran it for five years; I loved it. That’s sort of what got me going in this direction because I wanted to offer a selection of fabrics that were either organic, produced in the US, or 100% natural. Cotton, linen, and wool, for example.”
And that she did. The fabric store was the basis for Susan’s future sustainable aspirations. However, it wasn’t until the pandemic that her dreams really began to take off.
“The LA Textile Show went online,” Susan recounted, “I was sitting in my little tiny office in the attic watching, and I was like, ‘Oh, this is kind of interesting. It’s a felting machine. It just kind of stuck in my mind.”
After the pandemic, the Skalaks were able to move back to Charlottesville and eventually purchase Ringadal Farm.
Susan, having worked in horse stables as a teenager, wasted no time establishing her fiber flock. She initially started with five Angora goats but eventually expanded her flock to include Tunis sheep as well. When I asked her how she decided on a specific breed, she explained that it was a process of elimination.
“Are they parasite-resistant? Are they easy to handle? From there, I ordered fiber samples, felted them, and quickly narrowed down my options. The mohair had a really nice feel to it. And I knew I wanted Tunis sheep. They appealed to me because they were originally from this area. They’re becoming more popular again because they’re heat-tolerant and have a medium wool quality that is good for outerwear. And I just kind of knew that’s what I wanted.”
It wasn’t long before the wheels in Susan’s head started turning—literally. What’s interesting is that her engineering background actually lent itself incredibly useful to her newfound craft. For example, by learning how to manipulate the speed of the felting machine to produce different types of felt fabric, she was able to apply her understanding of manufacturing to various aspects of the process.
“So what I would do is card a blend of wool and mohair in different mixes, and then I would felt it, and then I would figure out what’s wrong with it, and then get it to the point where I liked what I had and knew how I had produced it.”
She also took classes on fleece quality and carding, and emphasized that peer learning was integral to the process.
“Having mentors has been the best thing. Most people enjoy learning from others. It’s just kind of as you go along. I’ve even taught a couple of people how to do it.”
If that all sounds fascinating on paper, I can tell you with complete confidence that it was even more remarkable in person. After thoroughly exploring the barn and seeing what the wool and mohair looked like off the animals, Susan took us straight to the source.
Photos above by Bronwen Pailthorpe
Feeling the fleece under my fingers was indescribable. It was warm and nurturing but also tough and durable at the same time. It was also entertaining to see how all the animals interacted with each other, with some personalities being more dominant than others.
“Some of the goats are the worst in that they can be very mischievous,” Susan quipped, “But I have one goat that hangs out with the sheep, which is kind of funny. I’ll talk about them all day, but they’re really entertaining and funny, and they each have their own personality. And they’re precious. Never a dull moment.” Never a dull moment, indeed. And we were only there for a few minutes!
With hay on our clothes and the feeling of mohair fresh on our fingertips, we finally made our way to Susan’s studio, where the real magic happened. After ooh-ing and ah-ing at a few of her pieces that were on display, she gave us a crash course in fleece processing.
Susan explained that there are several ways to pick apart the locks of wool and mohair once it has been washed and left to dry.
First, she showed us how to use a swing picker, a tool that’s used to pull apart the locks of fiber and remove any remaining vegetable matter. Susan also noted that a picker can be used for color-mixing and combining textures.
We also got to see a Viking Comb, which resembled a comb commonly found in the bedroom of a Victorian child. Susan explained that this kind of tool is used when working with very fine fibers, such as Angora kid fleece.
We then moved to the carder, which was by far the noisiest out of all the machines. With a big drum on the end that rotated and spread the fiber at an alarming speed, it was also the most mesmerizing. We learned that carders work to properly align the fibers and blend the fibers into an even distribution. As a result, the fibers form a rectangular batt when pulled off the drum. To the untrained eye, it might appear as if all these machines were doing the same thing. Upon further inspection, however, it became clear that the fiber was changing and becoming more usable with each operation.
The moment of truth came when I actually got to try on one of Susan’s handmade garments.
It was a grey and white colorblock, wool and mohair peacoat with felt flower appliques all over the bodice. The coat was incredibly soft and lightweight, and it had that gentle yet secure feeling that I had experienced when touching the goats and sheep earlier. It was almost as if the coat could protect me from a bullet despite it weighing less than a pound. Complete with a felted collar and vintage shell buttons, it was exceptionally constructed and well-designed.
Susan had previously credited early Dior and Balenciaga as sources of inspiration, and the coat was a perfect embodiment of that timeless concept. She also generally classified her garments as classic, minimalistic, and sustainable.
“It’s more of an architectural, clean look. However, my idea is to create a sustainable design, something that you could remove the buttons from, place in the garden, and fertilize the soil. Or you could use it as a weed cover and throw some straw over it. And in a couple of years, it would be completely gone because the fabric is sewn together using organic cotton thread. So the idea is that it’s completely compostable.”
Above photos of model ©Whitney Thompson
When I asked her how her work defies certain norms in the fashion industry today, she replied,
“What’s happening now with fast fashion is that the fabric is getting worse and worse and worse. I used to take thrifted clothing and repurpose it into new designs, but now it’s not even worth saving or repurposing. It just falls apart. It’s also challenging to find fabrics that do not contain polyester, which contributes to more plastics in the environment. And that’s not what I want to do.”
This design ethos is one of the most essential aspects of Susan’s work.
Her garments are the complete antithesis of fast fashion. Slowly produced, handmade, and environmentally conscious, Susan is more than a designer; she’s an artisan. She’s involved in every single aspect of production from start to finish, and that kind of analog, artistic commitment is beyond rare in this digital era. In a time where even small, up-and-coming designers are guilty of chasing fame and recognition, Susan’s work flies in the face of that innate desire for acclaim by remaining true to her slow and sustainable production model. Passion continues to motivate Susan above all else.
Interestingly enough, there’s a reel on Ringadal Farms’ Instagram that outlines the steps involved in making the regeneratively grown wool and mohair peacoat. The caption highlights over 1100 hours of work that went into the garment, from grazing the sheep to sewing on the final touches. No one wants to do that kind of work anymore, not even luxury houses.
photo by Linden Skalak
“I mean, to pay for my labor, to move the sheep and goats, it comes at a premium,” Susan says, “I spend 20 hours a week moving animals around, so it’s a big chunk of time and dedication. So, will I ever make it big? I don’t know, but luckily, my husband has a job. I just want to make designs that are somewhat timeless but beautiful and may wear out but will last a long time.”
It’s also worth noting that Susan was drawn to this traditional method of design in the first place. Today, if a garment can be mass-produced or AI-generated, it’s becoming more likely that it will be. That’s why Susan’s work is truly one-of-a-kind. This genuine love for the craft is something that cannot be commodified, and it’s what distinguishes genuine designers from others who are blinded by the pursuit of “innovation.”
Across the board, this kind of appreciation for creation and design should be taken into account when considering which brands to support.
Do we do things simply because we love them anymore? Or is it all about marketability and capital? One thing we can learn from Susan? The admiration, care, and respect that a designer puts into a garment will always show through.
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