It all began back in 2007 with a table at Abergavenny Craft Market. At the time, I was teaching full-time and steadily accumulating an out-of-control number of hand-made creations. I’d make gifts for friends and family, and gradually, the circle widened. People had begun to ask: “Do you sell these?” and I’d grin and explain I was just dabbling… but the seed was planted. I knitted, felted, crocheted, sewed, and spun anything I could get my hands on. My evenings were consumed by making, and weekends were spent at markets under the name Elliefants Delights—a cheerful, slightly chaotic outlet for my creative overflow.
I started selling at Milgi and Northcote Lane in Cardiff, then at the Riverfront in Newport.
By 2009, I wasn’t just knitting—I was designing. Patterns started to creep out of me, inspired by nature, history, memory, and mood. The first ones were simple, heartfelt, and specifically for a few special people. I added Chapter Arts and Roath markets, gradually building confidence in my creative voice. Around this time, the BBC came filming to our Stitch and Bitch group —just a short segment, but enough to make me realise that what I was doing had resonance. Around the same time Cardiff University invited me to be part of research into knitting and mental health. I’d always known how healing it could be to make something slowly, by hand, especially in a fast-moving, screen-filled world. But this project gave me a way to understand and articulate what I felt intuitively: that craft wasn’t just about making things, it was about remaking ourselves. That ethos—of making as medicine—still runs through everything I do.
By 2010, I had fallen headfirst into the world of yarn dyeing. It was as if all the creative threads came together—colour, wool, storytelling, and nature. I began experimenting, first with food colouring, experimenting in the garage to keep the mess from the kitchen, then acid dyes and then with natural ones, slowly building a palette that reflected my surroundings and seasons. Every skein told a story. And suddenly, the yarn itself, not just what could be made from it, was the focus.
In 2014, something even bigger happened: we bought a farm.
Tucked into the Welsh hills, this place was everything I didn’t know I’d been looking for, wild, weathered, and full of potential. I launched Tyddyn Bryn to the world, even though we wouldn’t move in until 2017. Those three years in between were a blur of building, clearing, planning, prepping, and dreaming. When we finally made the move, it felt like the beginning of a new chapter in every way, with our 15 month old W and M on the way!
In 2018, the sheep arrived. Starting with Ms Wanda (more on her story here) Just a few at first, but they brought with them a whole new layer of learning. Suddenly, wool wasn’t just something I bought—it was something I grew. I began to understand it from the ground up: breed characteristics, shearing, scouring, blending. My flock has slowly grown, now made up of native and heritage breeds; each either chosen for their unique fibre and hardiness to our Welsh climate or rescued and welcomed to our fields. The sheep are at the heart of everything now. We’re a no-kill flock, and their stories are entwined with every skein.
Since then, Tyddyn Bryn has evolved into something far richer than a yarn label. It’s a whole ecosystem—a working smallholding, a creative practice, and now a teaching space through my beautiful cabin studio, and a living experiment in mindful making.
I now teach mindful craft workshops, run slow fashion courses, offer yarn clubs and seasonal collections rooted in landscape and story. My hand-dyed yarns are still created over a wood-fired burner, often coloured with natural dyes foraged from around the land.
Every year brings new skills, new connections, and more wool. I have so many plans for the teaching studio space moving forward from September it’s truly exciting!
What began as a joyful side hustle is now a full-time, full-hearted life. From a market stall in Abergavenny to a wool-growing smallholding rooted in regenerative practice and soul-led creativity, this journey has been shaped by sheep, seasons, and slow-making.
Tyddyn Bryn is more than just yarn. It’s a story of transformation, of wool, of land, of self.
And it’s still unfolding.
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