It’s been quiet around the office, but for good reason— winter finally arrived in the Pacific Northwest.

We recently received this vintage plate in the mail from one of our loyal customers. It has since found its home near Caitlin’s desk.

Thanks Jon. Keep on rocking, yourself.

Under the lens. Courtesy of Medical Sheepskins.

No two wools are alike.
Obviously, we’re big fans of wool. As a natural fiber, it’s able to keep you dry and comfortable across multiple environments. However, despite its many benefits, wool continues to get a bad rap. The most common complaints: it itches, it’s too much work, it shrinks. Sure, this was true of old military style wools, but this versatile fiber has come a long way since the days of scratchy coats and stiff blankets. In fact, over the past few years, we’ve developed a collection of wools which are durable enough to withstand the modern washing machine, yet soft enough to be worn next to the skin.

Here’s a quick look at our collection of knit and woven wools, why they work and how you can make them last a lifetime.

Wool, Up Close
If you look closely (see above), wool looks a lot like the surface of a reptile. Jamie, our textile guru, likens it to a rose bush with thorns. These thorns, more scientifically known as scales, are the main culprits in giving traditional wool its abrasive texture. When washed, these scales interlock and become tighter and tighter causing, what we call, shrinkage.

Our wool fibers go through an anti-shrink process which pacifies these unruly scales and allows them to soften and adhere to the fiber, therefore creating a washable fabric which is softer, smoother, and much more pleasant to wear next to the skin.

A Merino Ram offers up some of the softest wool around. Not to mention, they're pretty amazing looking creatures.

Wool Knits

Where you’ll find it: Our M1, M2 and M3 merino collections.
How to make it last: The great thing about machine-washable wool is just that—you can throw it in the washing machine and not have to worry if you’ll end up with a shirt that fits a four-year-old. We recommend delicate or gentle cycle.

Some DON’Ts: No bleach and never, absolutely never use a commercial dryer like those found at a laundromat. As Jamie says: “They’re like pottery kilns. They destroy things.” Best to lay flat to dry (and not on a wood-fired stove either). You can also line-dry.

Wool Jackets

Where you’ll find it: men’s and women’s Highline Jacket, Elimeno-Pea Coat
How to make it last: Since dry cleaning is never a sustainable process, we created a wool that we could wash by hand. Of course, if you’re averse to hand washing or just don’t have the time, look into wet cleaning (also known as green cleansing) which utilizes biodegradable soaps and conditioners.

Otherwise, the easiest thing to do: fill up a bathtub with water and a small amount of soap (dishwashing soap works well). Submerge the jacket and let it soak. After a few hours, give it a shake. That way, you’ll free the dirt that’s been loosened by the soap and water.

Rinse. You can do this in one of two ways: fill up a bathtub with water OR wear it in the shower. We’ve never tried the latter option, but we’re fairly certain it does the job.

And lastly: lay flat to dry. Never hang to dry. Otherwise, you run the risk of getting those unsightly hanger marks.

That’s about it. But if you have any more questions about our wools, feel free to contact us at customercare@nau.com.

To learn more about the sustainability of our wool fabrics, check out our Working With Wool section.

It’s important to note: this back-handed aphorism isn’t one we use cavalierly. In fact, it’s actually an indelible part of our history. Way back before nau was nau, when we were merely a zygote, a Michael Franti t-shirt caught the eye of our founder. In three words, its bold, unapologetic message perfectly captured the idea behind his radically new business model—or more appropriately deemed—his UNbusiness model. His idea: to create a venture that would undo and unravel the damage that traditional businesses have caused the environment and be the first major apparel company built on sustainability.

He borrowed the axiom and distilled it into a single acronym—UTW—which later became the initial name of our fledging company and has since become (and will always be) our modus operandi. So with that said….

It’s no surprise: our resolution is the same resolution we’ve had since we started—to unfuck the world. Some people might think it’s too lofty, a bit audacious, maybe even haughty. But if we stick to miniscule goals and understated intentions then that’s all we’ll ever accomplish. And we’re fairly certain great ideas weren’t built on losing five pounds in a year or drinking one less cup of coffee a day.

Not to demean personal goals, but we tend to believe that people underestimate their own ability to surprise themselves. So they aim low and take it slow hoping that if they make it to the gym three times a week, they’ve reached their yearly potential. But we can do more, so much more.

Just look at some of the Provocateurs we featured last year. Sean Carasso invented a business model to end a war. His nonprofit, Falling Whistles, helps educate the masses and mobilize Peace forces in the Congo—all by selling whistles. Allison Arieff, former editor of Dwell magazine and current blogger for the NY Times is changing the way we think about sustainable design. And Drummond Lawson—part chemist, part wizard—gleans inspiration from natural ecosystems and blends it with science to create cleaning solutions that even mother nature would use.

Of course, they all have one thing in common—they dream big. They don’t just THINK it’s possible to unfuck the world, they KNOW it’s possible. And we do too. We don’t just want to design clothes that work well and feel good and tread lighter on the earth, we want to change the way an industry does business. Yeah, it’s lofty. It’s far-reaching. But we believe it’s possible. And that’s all that matters.

Despite mother nature’s slow start to the snow season, you’d be hard-pressed to find anyone in the office this week. Mark, our GM, is enjoying some off-piste skiing in Utah. Tyson and Peter are taking turns at Ski Bowl. Josie’s over in Bend probably causing some mischief on the mountain. And Leigh, well, she’s staring down the steep terrain of the Tetons. She took a break from the mountain to give us the low down on life in Jackson, Wyo.

Even when the snow is low, it’s hard to complain about spending the holidays in the Tetons. Walking through the antler arch at JAC, I couldn’t have been happier to be any other place with my family, 8 adults and 5 kids, to seek some mountain adventures. Over the years I’ve made some of the best turns of my life in Teton Village and on Teton pass, but snow is way down this year and it took a little extra motivation to make the best of this winter playground. In a way, I’ve enjoyed the challenge to seek out a stash here or there, earn my turns in the pass or enjoy a snowshoe in Teton park at sunset. As always, Jackson did not disappoint.

Day 1: we were  a large crew on the mountain. Ten out of 13 on snow—impressive for a crew that flew in from Oregon, Vermont, Florida and Italy.  For the first time in 15+ years, I took my first run of the year with my dad, brother-in-law and ripping eight-year-old nephew. All ages were stoked. Over the next several sunny days, I enjoyed skiing and snowboarding with my four year old daughter, husband, parents and siblings. We made the most of low snow on the mountain and explored the magic of Teton park, enjoyed many après beers at the Moose and shared lots of memorable holiday meals.

Winter wishes from Jackson, and I wish mountains everywhere lots of snow in the New Year!

….Happy Holidays.

Oh Dee, how we love thee, with your tool belt and your two-ton jack. You have always inspired us. And we’re honored that you would wear our shirt long enough to have it shred under the weight of your coveralls. You bring a whole new meaning to our motto: “wear it out, pass it on.” Keep up the good work.

For those who might not remember Dee Williams: she traded in her three bedroom bungalow for an 84-square foot house, a toothbrush and a pickup (biodiesel, that is). And for the past six years, she and her business partner have been helping other people do the same. In their business, Portland Alternative Dwellings, they design and build eco-friendly houses small enough to fit on a trailer. We were so inspired by Dee when we first met that we made a short film about her work. In fact, you can still find it on the Collective.

Beach, mountains, Veuve: A montage of our holiday….wishing you all the best.

embedded by Embedded Video

vimeo Direkt

We recently stumbled upon Etsy’s provocative, short film about H.G. “Skip” Brack and his 42-year quest to single-handedly recycle and restore every tool in Maine.  His goal? To help artisans, craftsmen, welders, mechanics—and anyone else who works with their hands—create beautiful things.

Of course, this got us thinking: what was the last thing we built, not for money or merit, but for the simple satisfaction of knowing we handcrafted something beautiful?

Well, it didn’t take us long to discover that, when we’re not working, we’re busy sewing, spinning and soldering whatever we can get our hands on. Here’s a few of our more recent creations:

An entertainment center constructed from a 12 ft. salvaged Douglas Fir log that Tyson impressively milled himself.
An outdoor sofa, table and modern tool shed. Leave it up to Peter, our Design Director, to fume his own fir and weld stock metal to build an outdoor living space.
A sockadile. The name says it all. Jenny, our tech designer, fashioned it out of, what looked like, a rainbow- stripped thigh high.
Wool pants and vest. It’s not surprising that Jamie, our textile guru, spun her own washable wool and hand-knit this toddler get-up.
A galley. Yes, you read that correctly. Mark outfitted his Land Rover Defender with a sink, two-burner stove, fridge and cabinets. Next stop: the desert.
A wedding veil made from Russiun tulle.
Pork tenderloin with pickled kale and cashews.
A snow globe.
A human being.

But we’re curious: what have you put your hands on lately?

[Editors Note: Our friend and copywriter Alex left Portland last January to start a new life in the French Alps. This month, he’s returned as Guest Editor of The Thought Kitchen to share some of his experiences.]

“Everything on a boat must have a place.”

My father taught me that. He’s a sailor, but I’ve found that the rule applies whether the vessel in question is a 30’ ketch in the North Atlantic or—as in my wife’s and my case—a 10’x14’ French Mazot floating among the landlocked Alps. While it doesn’t take long to clean 140 square feet, it takes even less time to make a complete mess of it. So, though the nearest harbor is some sixty miles away on Lake Geneva, part of life in our Alpine anchorage is keeping things ship-shape.

We moved into the Mazot—a French word that I usually translate as ‘hay shed’—in June. The first thing we learned, from the hand-painted board on the deck, was that our new home had been built in 1806 and was named Le Bouet Nir. (Like boats, houses in the Alps all have names.) The second thing we learned was that it was very, very small.

Of course this wasn’t much of a surprise. We’d known what we were getting into from the start; indeed, the smallness of our new home was part of its appeal—at least to me.

Ever since 2005, when I first saw an article about a 2.6-square-meter dwelling called the Micro Compact Home, I’d been fascinated by the idea of living in a small house. Like a bonsai tree, the beauty of the MCH lay in its combination of perfect execution and miniature proportions. When compared with the McMansions of the 90’s, to me the MCH seemed to be on a scale closer to my own. I wanted one.

Later, while working at Nau, I met Dee Williams and learned about her Little House on the Trailer. (Nau’s film profile of Dee, with over half a million views, is still on The Collective). I visited MoMA’s exhibition of pre-fab housing and read Mimi Zieger’s book Tiny. I seemed to be falling in love with one of the micro-trends of the new 21st century: micro-living.

So when the chance came to move into our Mazot, my wife and I jumped at the chance. We were newlyweds. We had love, optimism, and—perhaps most importantly—blissful naïveté. Maybe it was the kind of idea that only a writer and an out-of-work architect could love, but the romance of a cottage in the mountains overwhelmed the scent of cabin-fever that our friends and family caught in the place. “You’re going to live in there?” our parents asked when we sent them a photo. “Of course!” we replied. “Isn’t it great?!”

And so we set about moving in and finding places for all our stuff. Of course, the easiest way to do this is to just have fewer things. For some, this is part of the appeal—being a smugly self-satisfied minimalist is one of the clichés of small-house living—but we weren’t really into counting all our things and only keeping 100. Instead, we took what we needed, and the rest ended up in a friend’s basement.

This done, we settled, quite snuggly, into our new home. The grand tour takes but a moment: The main room has a bed, a table, two chairs and two small dressers. Behind that, a 4’x4’ kitchen sports two electric burners, a mini-fridge and toaster oven. A similarly sized bathroom manages to fit a shower, toilet and sink. What more, we asked ourselves, could we need?

We’ve found living in a small space to be, above all, practical. It’s less money and less work, meaning we have more time to enjoy the mountains that we moved here for. To us, the choice to ‘live lightly’ isn’t primarily about having a smaller environmental footprint—though that certainly is a byproduct. It’s a choice to have the time to focus on the things that matter to us, by keeping the necessity of shelter in perspective.

We find ourselves visiting our friend’s basement less often; the stuff in storage, it turns out, isn’t all that important. Most of what we really need fits. When the weather is fair, we eat outside in the yard. If it rains, we curl up inside or read on the porch. And when we get cold, we make tea: the mugs are warm in our hands and the stove heats up the whole house.

And when the house is a mess, we take a few minutes and put things back in their places. After three months in such a small home, you find that it’s not just your things that find their rightful place, but you as well.