
Nestled among the Fenton, shell pink milk glass, depression glass, antique vinegar cruets, heirloom lamp, 19th century sawtooth crystal, and 21st century decoupaged tea tray, you will find one of the greatest of our household “treasures”: my elegant handmade complexion soap.
When we moved to our condo in Southern Wisconsin in September, we left my soap making supplies at our northern home. There was so much to move, just to settle in here and start living, that my beloved hobby had go “on hold”. I rationalized that we have enough of my soap to last for many years, so we could retrieve the supplies later.
It’s odd, how one can miss a part of one’s life so terribly that there’s an empty spot in the heart. I reserved a vacant niche in the storeroom of our new home, as a waiting dedication to the art and appurtenances of soapmaking. Indeed, I wasn’t quite “all here”, because my soap making materials were 290 miles away.
But then 2 weeks ago we made a north run, and brought back many of the “left behinds”–including the soap making paraphernalia. Now my molds, packets of organic pigments, a case of sodium hydroxide (lye)*, designer base oils, perfume oils, stainless steel soap kettle, a digital scale, and 2 quart Pyrex measuring pitcher are neatly and conveniently arranged in the storeroom (which is mine and mine alone, because Joe has a lot of storage cabinets in our garage).
Yesterday we received a delivery of my favorite base oil, beef tallow. The gorgeous snowy 52 pound block of rendered fat came from Columbus Foods, in Chicago. Joe sliced the block into 10 rectangular increments, and these are stored in the freezer in our garage–waiting to be pressed into service.
It’s fun to glance back over the years and recall the development of a hobby. I made my first “soap” (quotes needed as that attempt produced something really weird) with a bunch of women in a large church kitchen in Milwaukee. We each brought our rendered bacon grease and left over fats from pot roasts, etc.
Soap making is not a thing to do away from home, and en masse. The techniques were iffy, and the sloshing-around-in-transit of my fledgling excuse for saponication caused separation of fats and lye. Not good, not safe, not in any way desirable to have around–and suitable only for quick disposal in a double layered garbage bag.
Many (maybe most) individuals would have quit there. Why did I persist? As I discarded my awful “soap”, I knew the process was just beginning. A dream had grabbed me. I would learn to make beautiful soap.
A few weeks later a daughter, a friend, and I made soap–this time in the quiet, controlled environment of my own kitchen. Although the soap was not fancy, we did use clean rendered beef tallow (no more of those grease-can leftovers) and our soap turned out to be white and lovely. From that day on, we never again used commercial soap in our home.
Soapmaking never grows old. Although it’s a chemical process, there are variables. I have charted years of batches, noting the ingredients used and results. In the beginning, failures were not uncommon–but I kept on, inspired by the successes along the way. Now I understand enough principles that my batches are consistently fine–only varying from a standard of excellence when I goof up on my measurements.
Over the years, a lot of people have wanted to make soap with me. Some of these folks think it’s a cute, homesteady thing to do–not understanding that it’s an expensive hobby. Along with the tallow, which I now buy rendered, I use costly vegetable oils with emollient qualities: apricot kernel, coconut, a smidge of castor, avocado oil–and that Lamborghini of oils for soapmaking as well as culinary purposes, olive oil. After the base oils and sodium hydroxide have blended to a frosting-like consistency, perfume oils are added–and these are especially costly.
Conversely, the pigment powders I use for color are fairly inexpensive, and a bit of powder goes a long way. But when most of the ingredients are tallied you can see that soapmaking is like knitting with designer yarns: we do it only because we love it, and never to “save money”.
Homemade soaps are superior in every way to commercial face and body products. Commercial “soaps” often contain petroleum oil (detergent!) which is drying to the skin, plus harsh preservative ingredients. Glycerin, that priceless skin-edifying ingredient which is a by-product of the saponification process, is removed in soap factories so that it can be marketed for the manufacture of pharmaceuticals and explosives. In homemade soap, the glycerin remains–doing what God intended it to do for our skin.
For years I sold my soap at fairs and a farmers’ market. But that got tiresome. Factoring the Wisconsin sales tax and filling out the required forms almost drove me nuts, because the tax varies with the county in which one is selling. Sometimes the demand for soap was greater than I could supply and still have enough soap left for the members of our large family, who had begun to realize that there was nothing on earth quite so wonderful as homemade soap. So I quit selling forever. Instead, I give the soap as much appreciated, special gifts.
Now one of our daughters is making soap, big time. Her soaps are gorgeous; she seems to have circumvented the trial and error stage which consumed my early years of saponifying. Two other daughters have made a few batches of soap, and undoubtedly will make more. A daughter-in-law has been hooked by this fabulous hobby. And we have granddaughters who are potential saponifiers. Like true love, the good things go on and on.
If you have read through this long entry, there’s a chance that you are dreaming of making soap–if you have not already started. I will share a couple of authors whose basic methods can serve to start you on your saponifying career: Ann Bramson and Sandy Maine. Just GOOGLE their names, and you’ll find great resources at your fingertips–plus info on where to find these ladies’ books. There are many other books out, on the subject of soapmaking, but those of Bramson and Maine are (in my opinion) the most helpful. Best of everything, as you embark on one of the most exciting hobbies on earth!
*People have asked me if they could make soap sans lye. I don’t think so. As far as I know, some form of caustic soda must be used in the soap process. The sodium hydroxide form of lye is the refined ingredient in beautiful homemade complexion soaps such as those which I make in my kitchen. Extreme care must be exercised when working with sodium hydroxide. (I have never made soap when small children or pets were underfoot.)
Sodium potash is the pioneer ingredient, created by pouring boiling water over wood ashes. You may see this soapmaking process at living history museums such as OLD WORLD WISCONSIN. The pioneer soap is not an elegant, skin enhancing luxury product. Unless you delight in doing things the primitive way, or enjoy attending a Rendezvous, you probably won’t ever want to do the sodium potash thing.
All soap must be aged for several weeks before using. In this time, the caustic soda textures out and is no longer lye–just as the oils are no longer oils. You have created a NEW THING–SOAP!
My soap is gentle and beautifying to the skin–perfect for baby humans, adult humans, and my dog!
Margaret L. Been–All Rights Reserved
