No, I am not writing a Nancy Drew novel. I am presenting the mysterious tale of my favorite sweater. Which, over last summer, appeared to turn into a food court for moths.
So I rummaged through a box of wool squares that I had just been thinking about giving away. My romance with wool quilting was a hot one, but I had broken things off between us awhile back and really didn't see any chance of reconciliation.
But, with a scissors and some wool yarn, the squares became patches.
Patches, meet moth holes.