Tour the Faribault Mill for a nostalgic look at manufacturing magic

FARIBAULT, Minn. ‐ The giant looms at the Faribault Mill chug like freight trains as they gobble up yarn and discharge cloth. Between the machines’ rhythmic roar and the scent of oil, the factory evokes the turn of the 19th century, when the U.S. emerged as an industrial giant and this nostalgic, persistent woolen mill arrived on the banks of the Cannon River.

Back when the business was launched in Faribault, a midsize town 50 miles south of Minneapolis, there were hundreds of wool and cotton mills nationwide. Today, Faribault Mill is one of the few remaining American companies (Pendleton being the other major name) that turn raw wool into blankets, apparel and accessories.

The factory may look like a living history museum, but it’s actually living proof that there’s demand for heirloom-quality, American-made textiles, even as the industry has largely moved overseas.

To help the public understand this rare craft, Faribault Mill offers tours on Fridays and Saturdays (when machines are off), which draw everyone from schoolkids to crafters to engineers. Ann Sviggum, who manages the mill’s retail operations, says that after visitors gain a sense of the skill and effort it takes to produce its high-end woolen goods, they tend to view their premium pricing in a new light. “Once they see how much work goes into it, the labor and the time, then all of a sudden they go, ‘Really, that’s only $190?’”

Carl Klemer launched the business that became Faribault Mill in 1865, using his horse, Jenny, to walk the treadmill that powered his first carding machine. The company became known for its blankets, which are now offered in various weights, sizes and colors, from stoic stripes to classic plaids to solids trimmed with satin ribbons. The factory also weaves blankets with complex designs, including maps of cities and lakes, scenes from national parks and images created by Minnesota artists such as Adam Turman and Dyani White Hawk.

Faribault’s woolen goods begin as 800-pound bales of sheep’s fleece, most of which comes from ranches in the western U.S. It takes about 10 days and more than 20 steps to turn the wool into finished fabric.

The first step is dyeing the wool, during which a “wet dog” odor, as Sviggum describes it, emanates from the enormous kettles in the factory’s basement.

Next, the dried wool tufts are combed into long, straight strands by carding machines that are more than a century old. Rollers covered with metal bristles (“kind of like dog brushes,” Sviggum explained) coax the fibers into thick sheets that look a lot like cotton candy.

Machines cut these sheets of wool batting into narrow strips and twist them into yarn. Workers pull the yarn into a network of strands that resembles a giant’s game of cat’s cradle and wind it onto spools the size of construction beams.

Each of these weaving beams is used to produce about 300 yards of fabric (enough for 100 throw blankets) in roughly a day. But first, workers must hand-thread each beam’s 2,000-plus strands of yarn into the loom. That process can take as long as two days.

If that job seems painstaking, so is that of the inspectors who pass the fabric over a sort-of large, backlit drafting table to check the yardage for flaws. Wielding a small scissors and tweezer, they fix gaps in the weave or remove loose threads and excess nubs of fiber. (“The higher the price point, the longer they look,” Sviggum noted.)

At this stage, the fabric has a stiff, coarse, almost burlap-like texture that reinforces wool’s reputation for itchiness. But after the fabric is washed, dried and napped, or brushed, the fibers on the surface create a fuzzy layer that’s soft to the touch. Finally, the fabric is cut and sewn into shape.

The plant employs about 65 workers whose roles often require a lot of repetition and meticulousness. A decade ago, many employees were company lifers, with up to 50 years of service. (Some had the quaint habit of leaving their fishing poles propped next to a window overlooking the river, so they could cast a line during breaks.)

More recently, retiring workers have been replaced by a younger cohort. Many have backgrounds in the automotive industry or farming — “In my day, we called them gearheads; they could fix anything, tear stuff apart, soup up a car,” Sviggum explained — preparing them to not only operate the machines but repair them.

Prior to the 1970s, almost all apparel and bedding that Americans purchased was produced by domestic textile companies. But as the textile industry moved overseas, primarily to China, and department stores' influence waned, Faribault Mills struggled. Though the company once produced more than half of the blankets made in America, it couldn’t withstand the Great Recession. But two years after the factory was shuttered, new owners brought it back to life.

Contract work has been a mainstay of Faribault’s business model. Though the company no longer supplies U.S. airlines with blankets, as it did decades ago, the military remains a longstanding client. Since World War I, Faribault has outfitted soldiers with more than a million of its basic blankets, in olive green and marine gray. Today, the company makes blankets with pro sports team logos, collegiate monograms and high school mascots, as well as “Peanuts” characters, the Hamm’s Beer bear and state and national flags. It has made custom throws for golf courses, ski resorts and the Super Bowl.

At the end of the tour, visitors can browse displays of Faribault’s blankets, pillows, shawls and more in the mill’s industrial-chic retail shop. Even though synthetic fabrics dominate global textile production, Sviggum says Faribault customers are drawn to wool clothing and bedding for its warmth, breathability and natural origins.

And so the Faribault blanket continues to be a Minnesota mainstay. While sales always peak around the holidays, Sviggum says the tradition of giving blankets as wedding gifts boosts sales in warm weather, too. “We always say our second biggest season to Christmas is June.”