Dread Orange Spots, or The Ugly Beauty Bar

The day before yesterday was the winter solstice, which is also our family Yule. The soap for this occasion, scented with a pine needle essential oil blended with sage, eucalyptus and rosemary, was finished a while back, and has mostly been given away.

My husband and I made a list of all the people we come into contact with on a regular basis – his coworkers, the specialists who provided services to our disabled son, teachers and staff at the schools, and of course our friends and family, and we realized that I would be distributing over 100 bars of soap. It was delivered at times with apologies – one batch had lost most of its jasmine, rose and patchouli scent, and another came out smelling slightly odd, in my opinion. Equal portions of cinnamon and pine created confusion rather than harmony. Still, I think they will be appreciated, although I’m sure that many don’t share my deep appreciation for soap in general. It’s just not something they think about much.

I’ve already started to receive some feedback. One of the occupational therapists said her husband LOVES the sandalwood soap. The Egyptian geranium turned out well and has been receiving many compliments. And of course, the anise soap made for my husband is a huge hit with the few folks we've shared it with, despite the fact that it also contains activated charcoal. It gives the soap a lovely dark licorice-like hue, but can discolor washcloths and linens.

The last batch I made was for Imbolg, also known as Candlemas, which occurs around the second day of February and is situated between the winter solstice and the spring equinox. I decided to combine the previously mentioned Imbolg soap and Valentine's Day soaps into one project. It’s a hot-process vegetarian soap made with a one percent superfat and four percent cocoa butter added toward the end. After saponification and while still hot, the soap was poured into a large mixing bowl. Milk, honey, and the lover's blend blend of essential oils was vigorously stirred in right before pressing it into the mold. It smells heavenly.

A few years ago, I made a sacred anointing oil from an EO blend, and for the lover's blend I used a few leftover oils from that project. They were in glass bottles in a dark cool place, and seemed fine. I hoped that since most of the essential oil in the lover's blend was new, and the honey might act as a preservative, it would turn out okay. Unfortunately the soap is now developing Dreaded Orange Spots. (That’s DOS in “soapers lingo”.) The spots are caused by oxidation, and it probably occurred because some of the essential oils used were old, although they smelled wonderful. It’s not so bad because the honey and milk turned the soap a dark color. There is less contrast, so the spots are not as pronounced. I realized it was risky to use old essential oil in soap, and it’s not likely I’ll make this mistake again. I make my own personal fragrance blends, and can continue to use the oils this way, as long as the fragrance is pleasing. I don’t like to waste things that are still useful. Essential oils are expensive, and it can take time to build up a good variety for making blends.

The new batch of soap is lying on a rack on the kitchen table. Each day I turn the bars. There are fifteen of them, generously sized and silky to the touch. There is also a huge ball of it, scraped from the sides of the mixing bowl with a rubber spatula and hand shaped. My soap dishes are piled with these test samples. I press my husband to try them and to comment on the fragrance and lather.

The DOS is barely noticeable now, but it will grow more pronounced, like a frightening pox. Real soapers do not sell or give away soap with DOS because it is unprofessional and bad for the reputation. It really doesn’t harm the soap, or harm the person who uses the soap. It doesn’t affect the lather or the cleaning power of the soap. It’s just ugly. Hopefully, I will find sympathetic homes for these poor spotted soaps, perhaps with understanding friends who realize that I am learning from my mistakes and that perfection isn’t always a requirement. Even now I can smell the soap, wafting in from the kitchen table.

Already, future batches are in the planning stages. My youngest son is expecting a batch of chocolate soap that actually smells like chocolate, and for the spring equinox perhaps a huge batch of lavender soap is in order. For Beltane, the soap will probably be infused with sweet woodruff and scented with ylang ylang, rose and jasmine.

Elderly aunts and Valentine's day soap

While most people are looking ahead to the holidays around the corner, I'm finally learning to think far beyond that in soap.

The day before yesterday, (Monday,) I blended the fats and made a batch of lye water for a five pound batch of soap. I calculated 3% super fat, which means that after the lye has reacted with as much fat as it's going to, there will still be a bit of free fat floating around, to make it nice for the skin.

However, there was a polymer clay guild meeting that night, and so I decided to wait until Tuesday to pour the two together. I wanted to be able to tend the mixture slowly, over several hours, so that it could take its time.

The next day, I began heating the fats in a crock pot. It was a blend of equal amounts of coconut oil and pomace olive oil, with a smaller amount of lard and caster oil added to help improve the quality of the lather. I heated the fats just enough to dissolve the coconut oil and lard, then poured in the lye water.

Almost immediately the magic began to happen. I remembered that the polymer clay guild was having a reception that evening for the opening of an exhibit at the local library, and I wanted to attend. So I set the crock pot to "high," to speed the process. I stirred with my new Cuisinart stick blender, (it's fantastic!) and in less than an hour, witnessed another batch of ingredients transform into soap. I squirted in some vegetable glycerin and almond oil to help improve the way the soap would eventually feel on the skin, and then brought it back up to trace. I didn't weigh the glycerin and almond oil, but I already knew it had "enough" fat to be a safe soap, and I'm getting to the point where I can "eyeball" some of the ingredients and make a successful batch.

Note: Never, never would I EVER "eyeball" the soap fats, lye, water, or essential oil! The ratio of fat to lye has to be precise. If not, the mixture may not ever turn into soap, or it might be so alkali that it will take your skin off. I don't think it's a good idea to be haphazard with the essential oils, either. For one thing, they are expensive. Too little, and you can't smell it at all, so it's wasted. Too much, and they might irritate the skin - and if more is used than needed, that's also a waste.

Finally, I added 2% Egyptian geranium essential oil. The scent filled the house. Just as the soap thickened so much that it would soon be difficult to pour, I started spooning it into the large wooden mold that my husband built.

That evening, after the reception, I checked on the soap. The box was warm to the touch, as the lye continued to react with the fats. I opened the mold, as the delicious scent poured out, I was transported back to a childhood visit at the home of an elderly aunt, secretly sniffing her bath products in the privacy of her bathroom. (Hey! I was a little kid, okay? If you invite me into your home, and I I need to visit your bathroom, I promise not to snoop!)

Concerned that the cooler evenings might slow the curing process, I wrapped the mold in old towels and stuffed the whole thing into the oven. This morning, I couldn't wait to check on it. Every so often I go open the oven door and check on it, lovingly wrapped like a baby. The loaf of soap has stuck to the lid of the mold, and when it finally cools down completely I'll have to place it in the freezer to unstick it. I pulled a little scrap of the soap from the crockpot. It lathers, but of course it's still harsh. But in time it will be a lovely soap. I might not be able to bring myself to share this one.

In the meantime, I've just made a lover's essential oil blend for Valentine's Day. It includes ylang-ylang, frankincense, myrrh, bergamot and rose, with a bit of lavender and the geranium. I hope to make it before the end of the month, so it will be well-cured by mid-February.

I have an idea for a recipe for a Candlemas soap. I'd like to make it with milk and honey, and call it Bridget's Soap. Maybe scent it with a bit of lavender, rose, and cedar.

Then of course, there is the licorice soap I promised my husband. Perhaps I should get started on that one next!

Soap Making Progress

Since the beginning of July, I have made approximately five batches of lye soap. Each batch weighed about five pounds. Only two of those batches did not require rebatching.

Rebatching is a process where the finished soap is melted down, ingredients are added, then the soap is remolded. Another term is "milling." Milled soap is rebatched soap. As far as I can tell, the difference is that consumers look for "milled" soap because it's perceived to be superior quality, and soap makers "rebatch" their soap in order to improve it.

There are plenty of soap makers who make soap with the intention of milling it. I believe that the reason that they don't just make the soap, mold it and be done with it is that certain ingredients can be affected in the soap making process. Certain essential oils and other ingredients may react to active lye. So, the soap is processed in order to give it desired qualities. That's why hand milled soap is more expensive - there is a lot more production cost involved. All mass-produced soaps are machine milled - even detergent bars, which aren't really soap at all. Machine milling involves compression with giant stainless steel rollers. The result is extra hardness and uniformity. However, the glycerin is processed out, and the soap loses it's character.

In my case, I didn't intend to need to rebatch. I was simply not satisfied with the way the soap turned out, with good reason. Either it didn't lather well enough, or had too much lye, or not enough scent. I need more practice to produce soaps with the properties that I want, and to produce those properties the first time, without rebatching. The good news is that the quality of my soap is continuously improving with each batch. I'm starting to settle on a blend of fats that produces a good lather. The right balance of lye is important too - too little and the soap is likely to go rancid, too much and it will take your skin off. Somewhere in the middle is a long lasting soap that moisturizes the skin. These first five batches have been well received by my family and friends. It will take a long time, however, to perfect the process.

I'm getting there.

I have a long list of soap projects I'd like to make - at the top of the list is a licorice soap with activated charcoal, (bad for washcloths but great for skin and fun for kids,) and a milk and honey soap with a blend of essential oils reputed to have skin enhancing properties. They will have to be hot-process soaps, meaning that I will cook them to speed the saponification process. This is because I am too impatient to wait months for the soap to finish curing and hardening. One day, I'll be able to make a batch of cold process soap and forget it for two months before testing it, but for now, it's hard to wait two or three days. I want to know how the last batch turned out before I make the next one, and I can't wait to make the next one.

I do acknowledge this - among soap makers, I am not considered an experienced soap maker. Not yet. More experienced soap makers may sneer when I say this, but I too am a soap maker. A person who has been making soap for five or more years might wonder how such a green newbie can know this. But I do know. I knew this the first time lye and lard turned into soap in front of my eyes. It just over three months ago, but this doesn't make it less true. When I slice into a loaf of freshly molded soap, I lovingly tend and turn those bars the way a chicken fusses over a clutch of eggs. This is not something I'm going to give up next month or next year. If I had known when I was twelve that I am a soap maker, I might have started then. Better late than never.

Just Getting Started

It may have started with a love of aromatherapy. Or perhaps it started on the day I walked into Lush in Vancouver, Canada and was dazzled by the tantalizing array of enormous blocks of richly scented soap. The only thing I can say for sure is that for years I have harbored a secret fantasy of becoming a Soap Witch.

I have played around with melt and pour soap. It's a type of soap you can buy in block form, melt it down, add color and fragrance, and pour into molds. It's fun. But while some do call the process of crafting with melt and pour "soap making," I prefer to call it "soap crafting." Real soap making requires study, commitment, dedication, perseverance, and a touch of courage. (If you don't believe me, read about what will happen if you accidentally add the water to the lye instead of the other way around.)

For years I've been vacillating back and forth between what is easy, like stopping at the grocery store for a bottle of dish washing liquid, and tinkering with various recipes for homemade dish and laundry soaps and other housecleaning products. There are a thousand uses for vinegar and baking soda, and not all of them involve food. Liquid castile soap possesses a richness and purity that liquid detergent sometimes tries to imitate - but why use an imitation if one can have the real thing? Gradually, my homemade methods are improving and winning out over the rest. I still keep Dawn detergent around to combat petroleum based oil stains, but as I find better alternatives to these things and become comfortable using them, my methods will change. Now I refill old laundry detergent containers with homemade laundry soap.

Many people don't realize this, but most of those foaming and lathering products found in typical grocery stores are not real soap. They are detergent. In the 1940's, when the materials needed to make soap became scarce due to the war, petroleum-based detergents took the place of soap. These caught on, mainly because they are so cheap to make.

Once one develops a taste for soap, detergent-based bars and liquids are a mere shadow of the real thing. There is something simple, honest and nurturing about soap.

So, why a Soap Witch, and not a Soap Aficionado or Soap Gourmet? Three reasons, actually. First off, there is magic in soap. There exists this special moment when the alkali and the fat transform into a third thing - soap. This often happens while stirring a batch of soap. You can see it, but you can also feel it through the spoon you are stirring it with. That is a deeply peaceful, magical moment for me. Secondly, these days modern Western witches often see themselves as people who live close to and in harmony with the earth and listen to her secrets. I do think soap making can be a way of expressing these values. And lastly, the witches of yesterday were the village wise women and healers. Their place in the community was one of practical usefulness. If I am very lucky, I may enjoy the status of wise woman myself one day.

While soap is not a form of medicine, how healthy would we be without it? Perhaps washing with soap is the most basic and fundamental form of healing.