I feel like Snow White (minus the dress), surrounded by animals. Other days I feel like one of the seven dwarves.

The alpacas found us in 2015. By then, Tom and I had already built a life together —we met in California, lived in New Mexico and eventually circled back to Texas to my family’s cattle ranch.

That return felt like a homecoming. My childhood was spent trailing my grandpa through those pastures, a wad of shredded bubble gum tucked in my back pocket so I could mimic his Beechnut chew. I was his little shadow—feeding goats, chasing guinea hens, brushing horses, mowing grass. I knew what hard work smelled like, and I loved it—especially when animals were involved.

Tom’s path was different. He grew up in northern New Mexico, closer to city-boy San Francisco dreams than manure piles. Early on he told me he wanted a big black horse and alpacas. I laughed so hard. Alpacas? This man? His reason was simple: “They’re cool. They’re super clean. They poop in one spot.” (It fit his love of order.) Technically true—but in reality? Communal potty piles. Cleaner than goats (confetti poopers) or chickens (dir-tay little velociraptors), but still…

*Second set of kids Jan/Feb of 2020 : Blue-eyed Bodie & Lulu, Seraphina & Goliath, and Jupiter & Phoenix*

Life bent in ways we didn’t expect. Infertility heartbreak and then my dad’s Alzheimer’s diagnosis. But the universe answered Tom’s dream with a herd of 26 alpacas—not in the best shape. We didn’t want to breed or run a farm. It was all about the love for us.

Animals write their own stories. In the mix was a stud named Sam. Within a couple months, we lost Audrey, the oldest, while out in the pasture Cinnamon was born. In the span of hours Tom held loss in his hands and witnessed new life take its first breath. To our complete surprise four crias were born — Cinnamon, Zeus, Forest, Michelangelo. Not all of them thrived; Michelangelo only lived a couple of months. Unfortunately that same year, we also said goodbye to two more elders: Nuala and Sierra. Magic and muck. Grief and joy.

*The herd gathers close — humming, watching, keeping vigil over new life.*

With alpacas comes shearing—once a year, along with teeth trims (they grow like rabbits) and toenail clipping. Blankets in one bag, seconds in another. Twenty-six animals meant mountains of fiber, multiplying faster than we could process. This was the unexpected inheritance.

We stacked over 200 bags before finally sending some to a mill in Utah. When the yarn came back, it was like Christmas morning. So unbelievably soft. We were hooked. But then came the next question: oh shit, what do we do with all this yarn?

Selling them felt like peddling something unfinished. Then a Texas mill opened, and the yarn shifted into blended naturals. Seconds became dryer balls and soap. Collaboration made sense when we met Morgan. Tom picked up knitting (beard, readers, needles, and an addi—the sexiest thing I’d ever seen). My arthritis made it impossible, so I wove it into my photography. We had found a rhythm. Fiber became art.

*I used some of our alpaca fiber, spun over cotton batting. You can see my art* *here.*

We asked a friend to create a 2D piece of Calamity Jane for a shirt to help with animal costs. A second kind of collaboration was born—with visual artists. Suddenly it wasn’t just yarn; it was stories and art layered together. But then came the next gut punch: oh shit, how do we sell all this stuff?

For a while I squeezed the alpaca goods into my fine art website. The feedback was clear: “I can’t find your alpaca things.” I wanted to shout, click on the tab that says Alpacas! But I listened. I had to separate my art from all this beautiful chaos. Who has the bandwidth for managing two of everything? Especially while caring for my dad.

When he entered memory care in October 2023, I slowly came up for air. Within two years I healed from caregiver’s disease, redesigned my fine art site, got lost again in pool season shoots, and finally had the clarity to give this piece of our life a proper name and identity. Hello, AlpacaWares.

By October 2025, it all came together. We will be elevating our “swag” into small-batch, limited-edition art instead of print-on-demand. Soap and dryer balls will disappear as inventory runs out. Our focus now is singular: partnering with artists and creating. As we grow, so will our creations.

And that’s what this blog is: the stories behind it all. Conversations with collaborators. Announcements when new pieces become available. No clutter, just the loveliest bits.

In case you haven’t noticed, all our animals have names. And the wild ones we meet? They get names too. Think Snow White vibes, but add a cocktail in hand. That’s where the fairytales (and the naughty bits) live — on Instagram.

Muck & Magic is our truth. You don’t get one without the other.

The Story behind Muck & Magic