Letter of Recommendation: Making the Winter Bed, Heirloom Edition
There’s a modern version of sleep that appeals to me in theory: fully optimized, distinctly 21st century. Wearable tech tracking REM cycles. A smart mattress cover fine-tuning cooling and heat throughout the night. Electric blackout blinds. A blue-blocking sleep mask. And yet, most of me leans in the opposite direction—toward a kind of 19th-century simplicity. Rather than amping up our exposure to technology in order to rest, I wondered what it might look like to take cues from our antecedents instead: a less-is-more approach to sleep, an heirloom-style bed.
There is where my thinking landed at the beginning of winter, when I came to terms with the limits of inefficient heating in a drafty wooden house on a cold mountain. I didn’t need a smarter house; I needed a warmer bed. Cotton percale and a duvet weren’t cutting it. As a weaver and knitter, I’ve long been drawn to wool and have experienced its temperature-regulating qualities firsthand through sheepskin and wool layers used with my child from infancy through early childhood. I also studied environmental science in university, and the data around toxic mattresses and bedding is enough to give anyone pause—particularly when considering that the bed is where our bodies spend around eight hours a day performing their most intensive cellular repair.
Above: A shepherd’s hut bed nestled among a flock of Hebridean sheep at Guardswell Farm in Scotland.
The 19th-century bed was not simply a mattress topped with linens—it was a layered thermal system, often the warmest place in the house. In colder regions, beds were positioned away from exterior walls or tucked into alcoves. Mattresses were filled with straw, wool, feathers, or horsehair (a material still used in luxury mattress making from brands such as Hästens). Sheets were made of linen rather than cotton, valued for its ability to warm quickly and its naturally antimicrobial qualities. Multiple hearty, often homespun wool blankets provided insulation, while coverlets added weight to retain heat. There were also accessories: bed warmers or heated stones wrapped in cloth placed near the feet; wool or linen nightcaps; full-length sleepwear.
Above: My blanket of choice: A heavyweight lambswool blanket from Danish brand Tekla, but we have more picks outlined in our post 10 Easy Pieces: Winter Wool Blankets.
I began the process of remaking my own bed. I’m mildly obsessed with my mattress, so that stayed, but I started integrating wool in layers. A thin but effective wool mattress topper earned its place almost immediately. It is truly thermoregulating: I run cold but my partner runs warm, and so far the wool has accommodated us both. Then came the bedding. I’ve always associated linen sheets with summer, but I redressed the bed in linen for winter and put the cotton percale away. Linen, due to its breathable nature, doesn’t overheat among all the wool.
For years, I’d been sleeping under a feather duvet—entirely against medical advice, given a down allergy I’ve known about (and ignored) for nearly a decade. That, too, changed. I swapped it for a wool-filled comforter, layered with a linen flat sheet and a heavyweight wool blanket (380 GSM). The bedding layers now look like this:
- Mattress
- Wool mattress topper
- Linen fitted sheet
- Wool comforter (used as a duvet)
- Linen flat sheet
- Wool blanket
Above: The Sonoma Wool Company Mattress Topper is a favorite.
Then there are the add-ons. I love the Sanger hot water bottle—particularly the small ones, which we keep two of. I fill them and place them at the foot of the bed about half an hour before getting in. A friend swears by a galvanized steel Japanese hot water bottle which is also quite chic and versatile (for camping etc)—but you must wrap it in fabric to avoid burns. I also learned that warmth in the hands and feet promotes quicker sleep onset. I first encountered this research in the context of children (a top parenting bedtime tip), but it applies just as well to bodies of any age. A pair of ultra-soft merino wool bed socks has become part of the routine as well.
Above: A curtained bedroom—a very 19th century technique for keeping the bed warm—at Berdoulat in Bath, England (see our post Berdoulat & Breakfast: A B&B in Bath).
The verdict after my heirloom bed overhaul: we fall asleep faster, no one overheats, and we’re able to keep the thermostat lower at night—improving indoor air and humidity while reducing our energy bill. But one of the most meaningful benefits, as I see it, is less visible. Wool bedding doesn’t off-gas, shed microplastics, or leave behind chemical residue. Looking to the past to inform the present has clarified something for me: the innovation was never the gadgetry. It was the material intelligence—time-tested over centuries. Wool, it turns out, is the true technology.
For more wool bedding resources, see our posts:
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