We caught up with the brilliant and insightful Elaine Vandiver a few weeks ago and have shared our conversation below.

Alright, Elaine thanks for taking the time to share your stories and insights with us today. Too often the media represents innovation as something magical that only high-flying tech billionaires and upstarts engage in – but the truth is almost every business owner has to regularly innovate in small and big ways in order for their businesses to survive and thrive. Can you share a story that highlights something innovative you’ve done over the course of your career?

I was 15 years into a career in the federal civil service. I had a nice salary, great benefits, more vacation time that I could responsibly take in a year, not to mention a now-mythical pension plan.

Although the work didn’t exactly excite me (I wrote and administered architectural and engineering service contracts for the government), I was good at it. Great, actually. I put in solid days at the office and left it there everyday when I clocked out to go to our nearly-new 4 bedroom, 3 bath house. On the surface, I was living the expectations I and others had for myself. At least if you overlooked the part of the story where my husband and I only occupied one of those bedrooms, while the other 3 sat loudly empty.

We tried for years to start our own family. The old fashioned way for a while, followed by a few years of injecting hormones in the office bathroom, and taking quiet medical absences to have eggs removed and embryos inserted. All the while acting like everything was a-ok while negotiating multi-million dollar contracts and heating that big empty house.

After 7 years, it became obvious children were not in the cards for us. Not wanting to uproot from our quaint but thriving rural community, we decided we needed to let go of that big house. It was surrounded by growing families after all. So we bought a century old farmhouse with 10 acres on the outskirts of town.

Its sole purpose was to be a project that could divert our grief because lord knows it wasn’t really okay to talk aloud about infertility and the crippling sadness it bestows. So that’s what we did. We bought the farm in what would become the most curious and odd real estate transaction of all. Taking possession of it in December of 2013, the former owner handed us the keys herself, along with a packet of miscellaneous paperwork before she announced that both the paperwork and “those llama over there” belong to the land. And thus to us now.

Being a contracts person through and through, I knew our Purchase and Sale Agreement said absolutely nothing about llama. But with all the excess pharmaceutical grade estrogen and progesterone wearing off, I didn’t have any energy to argue about it.

A beat up old farm with two raggedy llama it was.

Turns out the paperwork she gave us included copies of historical documents chronicling the settlement of the farm by a homesteader from Iowa. I vaguely recalled a lesson on the Homestead Act of 1862 from my middle school days, but I had never laid eyes on the paperwork and was totally surprised to see one with Ulysses S. Grant’s signature on it.

As we started peeling back layers on the old farmhouse, we were enchanted. Under the crappy drop ceilings, gaudy wallpaper and grease encased appliances stood a solid home. It was built with rough hewn wood, some 18″ wide and 2″ thick in most places, just like the big red barn that overlooked the house to the west.

One late night, I googled “how to take care of llama” and descended down a web wormhole I’ve happily never made it out of yet.

Turns out llama are related to alpaca, and there was an alpaca farm just up the road which we visited a few months later. We brought home 3 alpaca in the spring of 2014 who were just supposed to help us eat up the pasture until we could afford to get a tractor.

Well 3 alpaca turned into 6 and before we knew it, there was a dozen of those camelids out happily snacking on grass. Shorn the following spring, I found myself with a pile of fiber that needed a purpose. I located a fiber mill and had it made into yarn and then I learned how to knit. By this time I was progressively returning back from lunch late and my colleagues and bosses alike awaited my daily tale ‘from the farm.’

This went on a couple of years — being a cubicle bureaucrat by day and a 5 o’clock farmer thereafter. Late lunches transitioned into unplanned half days because alpaca babies were being born, hay was being delivered or some other such thing I could attempt to excuse.

By 2017 I had progressed from making yarn to having a custom line of machine-knit hats, scarves and mittens made with my precious annual fiber harvest. I had even begun to grow heirloom dye plants to use on their luxurious fiber. In 2018, once I realized how much time and resources it took to process raw fiber into finished garment, I expanded to offer cut flower bouquets in the summer time to leverage the cost of production.

I stepped down to part-time that year as well, while my colleagues cheered me on and simultaneously scratched their heads. But the writing was on the wall. To their credit, they tried very hard and very generously to keep me from leaving entirely. Not because they feared I was making a mistake, I was genuinely good at the contracts job. But even all those cushy benefits couldn’t overshadow what that little extra taste of freedom and ability to blaze my own trail had done for me.

Certainly there are people who still scoff at what they consider a foolish and reckless career pivot, but they’re generally the ones heating empty houses and selling back their vacation days.

But as the shepherdess (and small batch American textile maker) over here at Old Homestead Alpacas, we’re just as proud of where and why we started, how far we’ve come, and how far we’ve still got to go…because it’s 100% ours in every way, shape and form. And although it gets harder and harder every year, it also gets better. And if it only ever serves as an example of what is possible for others, it’ll be the best work of my life.

Elaine, love having you share your insights with us. Before we ask you more questions, maybe you can take a moment to introduce yourself to our readers who might have missed our earlier conversations?

I’ve probably already answered most of this in the first question, so for the sake of brevity, I’ll just take on the one about what sets me apart.

For starters, while I’m not a first generation farmer, I’m certainly the first-in-at-least-six-generations to be a farmer.

I’m a woman. I’m a US Arm Iraq war veteran.

I thought growing up in NW Indiana in the 1980s before cell phones and the internet gave me grit, but I didn’t so much as have a dog let alone livestock. I didn’t count on the sky or the soil to provide, I turned to both my college graduate parents.

I’ll never trade those days or privileges because I loved going to college, being in a sorority and ‘studying’ abroad.

I wouldn’t even trade all the heartache and loss that infertility gave me.

They’ve all been essential moments of transformation for me as a human here upon earth. And now I watch sunshine, rain and grass transform into the most amazing natural fiber and natural color.

What I offer to my clients/the world is merely a recognition of possibility and the potential for transformation.

Whether it’s transforming a mundane day by taking part in one of my farm experiences…

Or by transforming their fast-fashion/made overseas wardrobe with a piece from my durable, heirloom, American made Knitwear Collection…

Or perhaps transforming their own thoughts of what is possible for them in this life by choosing an unconventional path.

Can you open up about how you funded your business?

With alpacas, I only get one harvest a year because it takes them a full year to grow it long enough to be usable.

What that means is — I have to feed/water/house/doctor/raise them an entire year before I can harvest a crop (fiber).

Once it’s harvested in spring, then begins another full year of processing.

Processors (fiber mill and the machine knitting operation) need to be paid in the now, despite the fact that I don’t yet have a marketable item from that harvest.

That means cash flow is my biggest ongoing concern.

I offer agritourism (monthly alpaca meet & greets, private tours, etc.) as a way to help keep the lights on (or the well pump running) while I await my finished alpaca fiber items from the mill.

Back in 2018, with the increasing costs of raising and keeping things alive, I expanded to selling cut flowers in the summer.
I sell bouquets at the Downtown Walla Walla farmer’s market and via subscription delivery service in the spring & early summer months to have cashflow to pay final fiber processing costs and to buy the herd’s winter hay (their only source of winter food).

I hit pause on farmer’s markets & agritourism right before Labor Day as the newly knit garments arrive back on the farm. This gives me time to hand dye them in small batches using the heirloom dye plants/flowers that I grew and stashed all summer.

Although I dearly miss the revenue of weekly markets and monthly events during “dye season”, it takes all my creative focus to get it done without ruining it or burning down the dyehouse.

Once everything is dyed, dried and labeled, I load it onto the farm store on my website.
Each item has a style and a color — and needs to be photographed.

I take a detailed inventory when I load each item onto the site. My biggest fear is — loading more of any one color or style and then overselling. It’s not like I can just whip out another one, as hopefully you’ve gathered just by reading this, that would take another year.

I’ve been very fortunate these last few years that I’ve cultivated a community on social media that I’ve driven to my small but mighty email list — they’ve all shown up in earnest to my annual online sale.

In 2022, I launched the sale and had over 100 orders in the first hour alone. Most styles were sold out within just a handful of hours and I was completely sold out in barely 8 hours. I pack each order by hand in the farmhouse, usually with a steady stream of grateful tears…and somewhat slight panic.

Remember that part about “a full year of processing” that I mentioned earlier>

That step happens nearly as soon as the fiber is shorn. Most years, I shear it on a Monday and I’ve got it boxed up, shipped and arriving across the country to Minnesota to the fiber mill by that same Friday.

That’s because I’ve coordinated with the mill to get it into the production queue ASAP.

My primary goal is to get that year’s harvest into a marketable good the same year it was shorn, so I can have revenue to offset all the costs it took to grow and produce it.

That might sound pretty straightforward, but do you know when is the best time to sell knit hats, scarves and mittens is?

I can assure you, it’s not July…

But it’s also not after the holiday shopping rush in November, either.

Since it takes months for the fiber processors to transform it from a raw fiber to a finished garment, sales hinge on processor lead times.

Simply put, even with commercial processing equipment, making yarn & garments from a natural fiber is an inherently long lead process.

There are very few mills left in the US. Of them, very few process alpaca fiber (because it’s slipperier than sheep’s wool), and even fewer of them will process 100% alpaca — which is my personal requirement as I’m committed to only selling stuff I’ve actually produced myself.

Even if there were numerous mills, most have a 1 year turn around timeline to account for those fibers “ahead of you in line” along with what it takes to do the job once it’s underway.

Luckily I’ve been closely working with our processors for several years now, I’ve been able to see between a 3- to 5-month turnaround.

However, good relationships, good intentions, good equipment and good work are not immune to LIFE.

Things happen. Those processors are small businesses like me.

And while we all plan to keep fighting the good “American Made” fight, nothing for any of our businesses is guaranteed.

When you couple that with the continued and rising costs of…literally…every…single thing…it’s a shuffle.

Frankly, in terms of economics, it’s a shell game. Not gonna lie, even in my 9th year.

Natural fiber production means I have 24/7/365 operating costs (once shorn, those animals immediately begin growing the next crop). I’m constantly working hand-to-mouth with costs. Agritourism and cut flowers help leverage but they’re barely keeping pace with the rising cost of production and manufacturing.

The reality of running any business is that you plan for the then, live in the now, and adjust as you go.

Every year I plan to have an annual Harvest Knitwear Collection. And I work towards it knowing that one or more processors could hiccup and I could not have my single largest revenue for that year.

Although I’ve parlayed that into a genuine case for being “limited edition”, “all natural”, and “one of a kind” in my marketing, it’s a huge gamble day in and day out.

Any stories or insights that might help us understand how you’ve built such a strong reputation?

I share all facets of my story online — our blog and on social media. While I don’t sugar coat things, I also don’t share from the festering wound, but rather the scar.

I take what I’ve learned and distill it into real words that connect with people. The vast majority of my clients are women, 55-65 years old, who are fascinated and inspired by my work and life. Although they don’t all directly say it, many do — they wish they knew this kind of a life was an option for them. But they’re all happy to follow along now, cheering me on and most importantly, buying nearly everything I have to offer (I say this as humbly as possible, but it’s true).

I have barely 1000 email subscribers, but I write to them twice a month almost religiously. My annual harvest knitwear collection is offered to them and only them. This year, my online sale started at 8am pacific and I had dozens of them tell me via replies to my sales email that they set their alarms to shop as many learned in 2022 that I wasn’t lying about being limited edition (I sold out completely that year in just a few hours).

So when my store went live earlier this month, I had over 100 orders within the very first hour.

Not a single one of them absolutely needed a $74 hat (which was the going rate this year), but because they honestly know me, not just my logo or some mission statement that doesn’t see the light of day from the business plan (which I don’t have either), they know every last one of my 28 alpaca by name. They travel to see my farm here in the middle of almost nowhere Washington. When they meet me for the first time, they say they feel like they know me and like they’ve already been to the farm before just by reading the blog and emails.

I don’t take a second of that familiarity for granted, those comments are like deposits into my now-imaginary 401k.

That said, I’m most definitely not for everyone. Nor are my “overpriced” hats, as some folks have said to my face. But that’s okay, those aren’t my people and their comments are merely just words.

I know who I am even if I’m not entirely sure where I’m going or where this business is headed. That’s not for me to know right now anyway.

It’s a great ride and I’m the richest woman alive, even if I’m over leveraged and every card is maxed out. I’m making it work and will always be the first to say this is the best work of my life.

Contact Info:

• Website: https://www.oldhomesteadalpacas.com
• Instagram: OldHomesteadAlpacas
• Facebook: OldHomesteadAlpacas
• Youtube: OldHomesteadAlpacas

Image Credits
All images provided were taken by me, Elaine Vandiver.