FiberFest 2025: Lots of Wool and a Wee Bit of Burnout~Sherri Easley

 

Well, friends,  FiberFest was a hit, and I’m still somewhere between elated and exhausted. Over a hundred vendors (mostly with products of the woolly persuasion) and more than 5,000 fiber-loving humans packed the Irving Convention Center for three glorious, chaotic days.

My trusty sidekick this year was my 9-year-old granddaughter, Dylan, who not only helped in the booth but did it all while dressed in full Celtic attire, because if you’re going to sell handmade Celtic goods, you may as well do it like a wee Scottish lass

The good news? I sold most of what I had.    

The bad news? …I sold most of what I had.

Which means I’m back in the sewing room (a.k.a. my house) trying to rebuild inventory before the next show at the end of November.

It’s a great problem to have, but also slightly ironic that success just means more late nights covered in Harris Tweed lint and thread clippings in a house full of organized piles.

Unlike last year, I managed not to faceplant in the parking garage on day one. Progress, right? That’s a story for another day, but let’s just say gravity and concrete were not my friends in 2024, but this year, I didn’t have to fulfill my obligation as a vendor with an undiagnosed broken arm and chipped orbital lobe.

I’m at a funny crossroad these days. I have too much fabric and too many notions to quit, but not quite enough energy to keep up the current pace. Retirement in January is on the horizon, and I’m hoping that stepping back from the 9-to-5 grind will help restore my creative spark (and maybe my sanity). More sewing, more writing… we shall see.

I’m also working on a new website, which should make selling easier for those who can’t make it to shows. As an introvert, I love the making part, but the endless small talk with thousands of strangers? That’s a special kind of marathon.

A special shout-out to my niece, Susan, in the photos, who somehow sells out by day two every single year (clearly, she’s discovered the secret formula in her to-die-for cookies), and to Dylan for being the most charming Celtic sales associate a grandmother could ask for.

Here are a few photos from the booth—notice how I’ve once again managed to evade the camera. It’s a gift. Or a curse. Depends on the lighting. Somewhere between untangling yarn and re-stocking my wares, I had an epiphany: I need to get professional photos taken. Of me. Not the bags. Not the booth. Me.

Because let’s face it—I’ll never be any younger than I am today, and if I’m going to show up on a new website or on a book sleeve, it might as well be with a halfway decent headshot where I don’t look like I just wrestled a bolt of waxed canvas or crawled out of bed.

Until next time, I’ll be in my sewing corner with a mug of tea, a pile of fabric, and enough thread  and notions to make it to November 2050

Stay woolly
Sherri

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My niece, Susan, from Kanga's Cookies.