Dragon Hoard Dispatches

How Three Sweaters became a Penguin Pack

I am a treasure hunter.

I always have been. I always will be.

I started collecting rocks when I was four years old. I am not exaggerating.

I still remember my first piece of red sandstone. I found it at the entrance to the Garden of the Gods in Colorado. I held it in my small hand while the sun caught the tiny quartz crystals and made them sparkle.

It felt like I had discovered something magnificent.

Now I have a finely curated collection of fossils and minerals stashed in my office. Pulling out those treasures gives me as much joy as a dragon guarding her treasure chest — except I occasionally let the littles touch mine.

Treasure hunting graduated from rocks to antiquing when I was older. My dad, mom, and I wandered through antique shops together, and some of those beautiful finds now decorate my home.

My littles are endlessly amazed by certain objects.

“What do you mean you have to wind up the box to make the music play?”

“It’s called a Victrola,” I explain. “And it doesn’t need batteries.”

That alone feels like magic.

These days, my treasure hunting has taken a slightly different turn.

Thrifting.

Partly because the treasure hunter in me is still very much alive. But also because I’ve started thinking more about sustainability and what already exists in the world.

Have you ever really looked at the fabric section of a thrift store?

It’s astonishing.

Sweaters. Shirts. Skirts. Tablecloths. Blankets. Entire bolts of possibility just hanging there.

I don’t always need newly processed fabric from a store. I can repurpose, upcycle, and get creative with what already exists.

Now, I am not one of those clever women who can take Grandma’s lace tablecloth and transform it into a Renaissance fair masterpiece.

That is not my lane.

I am not a fluffy, ruffly dress person.

But take a wool sweater with a few holes and turn it into felted fabric for stuffed animals?

I am all in.

My latest project involved penguins.

It was a birthday request. A family of penguins.

Easy, right?

Except I couldn’t find a pattern I liked.

This is a recurring problem in my creative life. I have a picture of the finished thing in my head, and unfortunately, no one else can see it.

So I did what I usually do.

I made my own pattern.

There was some trial and error involved.

A couple of prototype penguins now live quietly at the bottom of the trash can. I could not recycle my recycled fabric; they were beyond saving.

But then I struck gold.

A holey black wool sweater.
A holey white wool sweater.
And, unbelievably, an orange wool sweater.

Into the washing machine they went — hot water cycle. Then into the dryer on high.

Out came tiny, felted versions of what had once been men’s sweaters.

And that’s when the real fun began.

Cutting.
Stitching.
Adjusting.
Hiding half-finished penguins in my office.

No one gets to see their stuffie before it’s complete.

Partly because I enjoy the surprise.

Mostly because stuffed animals without faces or feet can be deeply unsettling. Littles do not need to witness that phase of development. And sometimes husbands are mildly horrified.

But in the end?

A delightful penguin pack.

Happy littles.

And fabric that might have been discarded turned into something loved.

I call that a win all around.

Treasure hunting doesn’t always look like gold coins and sparkling gemstones.

Sometimes it looks like holey sweaters and a washing machine.

Sometimes it looks like rocks that shimmer in the sun.

Sometimes it looks like an antique that still sings if you wind it carefully.

And sometimes it looks like trying something new, failing twice, and stitching again anyway.

I think that’s why I keep making things.

Because there is always treasure hiding somewhere.

And finding it — or turning it into something new — still feels like magic

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