What to know

• This is a personal hobby, not a business — nothing here is for sale.

• This site is not intended to be instructional, only personal reflextions and thoughts.

• I make soap to share with friends, and family, and other who enjoys handmade things.

• My soaps are crafted to be gentle, conditioning, and are made in small batches.

• Every batch is crafted with a 5% superfat formula and pH‑tested for safety.

• With each batch, I’m learning and improving — in soapmaking, documentation, and building this website.

• I’m having fun.

• Life is good.

Now lets get on with the batches, the results, what I've learned, and what moves me forward.

Soapus No. 1 

As mentioned above, this was my first batch, created on May 13, 2026.  I searched for a beginner‑friendly recipe and settled on an easy, limited‑ingredient formula. I honestly didn’t know what to expect—the entire process was new to me. I measured the oils, lye, water, and sodium lactate as accurately as I could and followed the recommended temperature guidelines for the lye solution. I truly did my best for this first attempt. 

After waiting 24 hours to unmold the bars, I could hardly believe what I was seeing. I had made soap. It looked like soap, smelled like soap, and even felt like soap. Almost immediately, I started wondering about its quality and safety. Would it actually work? Was it safe to use? I kept thinking about my fear of lye, knowing how dangerous it can be if mishandled. 

To be sure, I decided to test the pH. Amazon delivered test strips the next day. I broke off a small piece of soap, mixed it with distilled water, and tested it—then tested again with a stronger concentration, and again with an even stronger one. Every test came back within the safe range. That was a huge relief. 

And then came the waiting period: four weeks for the bars to cure. When the time finally arrived, I anxiously tried my homemade soap for the first time. It lathered, rinsed cleanly, and left my hands feeling softened. I was amazed all over again. It was safe, functional, and exactly what I hoped a soap would be—and I had made it myself. 

At that point, the only thing left to do was start thinking about a new batch, a new recipe, and ways to improve my technique. I was still figuring it all out, but I was hooked. 

Soapus No. 2 (5/17/26)

My second batch was another simple recipe—just oils, lye, water, and sodium lactate—but this time I experimented with a different blend of oils. It was with this batch that I began learning some of the real lessons of soap making. After the apparent success of my first attempt, I was a bit overconfident and, admittedly, a little less careful about following directions. Most critically, I ignored the recommended temperature range for the lye‑water solution. 

Everything seemed fine at first. I measured carefully, combined ingredients in the proper order, reached trace, and poured the batter into the mold. But twenty‑four hours later, I checked on the soap and found a gray, chalky coating across the tops of the bars. I had no idea what I was looking at. Had I skipped a step? Made a mistake? I didn’t even know how to research the issue—at that early stage, I wasn’t yet aware of the wealth of online resources available to new soap makers. 

My first instinct was simply to take a photo and ask an AI app. Within seconds, it gave me the answer: soda ash. Further reading explained that soda ash forms when lye reacts with carbon dioxide in the air, and that this reaction is more likely when the lye solution is too cool when mixed with the oils. Thankfully, soda ash is harmless and washes off with the first use, so I felt relieved and ready to move on. 

Two weeks later, however, I noticed something new with this second batch. Not only was the soda ash still present, but the bars had developed scattered spots of discoloration. Back to the phone. Back to AI. The verdict: D‑O‑S—dreaded orange spots. These occur when some of the oils oxidize during curing. Again, DOS doesn’t affect the usability of the soap, but it certainly affects appearance—and if I were selling soap, it would affect saleability too. Even though I’m not selling, I still didn’t want DOS showing up in my homemade bars. 

Fortunately, the solution was easy to find and simple to implement: add a preservative. Going forward, my batches wouldn’t be limited to just oils, lye, water, and sodium lactate. I introduced a new ingredient—Sodium Citrate. In soap, sodium citrate acts as a chelator, binding metal ions and helping prevent oil oxidation, which in turn prevents DOS.

And with that, I was ready to move on to Soapus No. 3.

Soapus No. 3 (5/30/26)

Despite my best intentions, this batch went ahead without the DOS defender, Sodium Citrate—I still hadn’t ordered it. Instead, I tried a workaround I’d read about: misting the surface of the batter with alcohol once it’s in the mold to help prevent soda ash. Since I already had rubbing alcohol on hand, it seemed worth experimenting with. 

For this third batch, I wanted to keep things simple—just a basic soap with as few oils as possible. My research into single‑oil formulas led me to Castile soap, made entirely from olive oil. The drawback, of course, is the cure time: six months to a full year before it fully hardens. Further reading revealed that adding a hard oil, like coconut or palm, dramatically shortens the cure while still producing a gentle bar.  A recipe of 70% olive oil and 30% hard oil is known not as Castile but Bastille, and that’s the direction I chose. A mild soap without the long wait felt like the right move. 

So the plan was simple ingredients, a straightforward process, and this time an alcohol spray topper. Twenty‑four hours after pouring, I found no soda ash—but instead a pitted, slightly rough texture on the exposed surface of the soap in the mold. I suppose that’s the trade‑off: no ash, but a bit of texture. Overall, I was satisfied and already looking forward to the next batch. 

Soapus No. 4 (6/11/26)

With this batch, I wanted to wander a little farther from my usual path and explore new oil blends. I believed that every oil carries its own personality — a subtle signature that shows up in the finished bar — and this time I felt ready to test that belief. I stepped outside my familiar box and reached for oils I’d never used before.

Shea butter… what would that bring?

Peanut oil… how would it behave?

The world is my soap dish, and I’m free to try any combination — as long as I’m thoughtful about it. So far on this journey, I’ve been genuinely satisfied with the results of each batch. Every Soapus has taught me something important, and those lessons gave me the confidence to stretch a little further. My mantra remains: Be Brave. 

Even though I haven’t actually used the earlier Soapus bars in real life yet, the physical results tell me they’re successes. And yes — I still check the pH of every batch. I probably always will. Sodium hydroxide is powerful stuff, and I stay respectfully cautious around anything that doubles as drain cleaner. 

Soapus No. 4, though more ambitious in spirit, turned out to be a straightforward, balanced recipe:

• Coconut oil

• Peanut oil

• Shea butter

• Avocado oil

• Sodium hydroxide

• Distilled water

• Sodium lactate

Four weeks later: the bars firmed up beautifully. They look, feel, and smell like soap — everything seems right. I wonder when I’ll finally try one in the shower.

My mind is already drifting toward Soapus No. 5.

Soapus No. 5 (6/16/26)

Soapus No. 5 is a variation on Soapus No. 3 — a Bastille‑style recipe — but this time made with two new oils: avocado and palm, blended at the same 70/30 ratio. I’m still curious how these two will differ in real‑world use, especially since I haven’t yet tried either of these Bastille bars.

For this batch, I finally acquired sodium citrate, my long‑awaited DOS defender, and was excited to incorporate it. The entire process went smoothly from start to unmolding. No surprises, no complications — just a straightforward, uneventful batch.

And honestly, that’s what makes Soapus No. 5 remarkable: it’s completely unremarkable. It’s soap — exactly what I intended to create. Four to six weeks from now, once the bars have cured, my thoughts may change. But for now, I’m satisfied and already looking ahead.

Onward to Soapus No. 6. Big ideas are waiting.

Soapus No. 6  — Forest Ember     (7/17/26)

Soapus No. 6 was my most ambitious creation to date — and, unmistakably, my greatest failure. What set this batch apart from the first five was the introduction of kaolin clay and my first custom‑designed fragrance blend. I had assembled a starter palette of essential oils I believed would give me range and versatility:

Bergamot

Cedarwood

Grapefruit

Lavender

Patchouli

Pine Needle

Sweet Tobacco

Vetiver

Ylang‑Ylang

Everything about the preparation felt right. I measured with care, followed each step in sequence, and poured the batter with the confidence that this would be my finest, most polished bar yet — handcrafted, enriched with additives, and crowned with a signature scent.

But by the next day, that confidence collapsed. The batch was a disaster: chalky, mottled, oily, and soft all at once. It was clear the emulsion had broken, the oils separating before they could set, leaving the entire batch to slump into a pale, uneven mush.

The one saving grace was the fragrance — the blend I named Forest Ember. Built from Sweet Tobacco, Cedarwood, Patchouli, and Vetiver, it carried a warmth and resinous depth that was inspired by woods, warm embers, and rich earth. Even in failure, the scent remained beautiful.

Despite the setback, I’m not discouraged. Soapus No. 6 taught me more than any successful batch could have. I look forward — bravely — to Soapus No. 7.

Update on Soapus No. 6 - Forest Ember

A Batch I Thought I Lost… Until It Found Its Own Way

Soapus No. 6 was meant to be a triumph — my most ambitious blend to date, built on nearly two pounds of carefully chosen vegetable oils and a generous pour of essential oils. I had high hopes for this one. Forest Ember, the fragrance I composed for it, was a warm, resinous mix of Sweet Tobacco, Cedarwood, Patchouli, and Vetiver. It smelled like a walk through deep woods at dusk.

But when I unmolded the bars, the excitement evaporated. The batch was a mess: chalky, mottled, oily, and far too soft. A broken emulsion had sabotaged the entire thing. I considered rebatching, but the motivation wasn’t there. I boxed the bars, tucked them into kraft paper, and set them atop my bedroom armoire — fully prepared to toss them out later. 

Every now and then, though, a faint waft of Forest Ember would drift by, and despite everything, it made me smile.

Weeks passed — roughly four.  Curiosity finally nudged me to take another look. To my surprise, the bars had firmed up beautifully. Still ugly, yes — but not hopeless. Most of the “disaster” turned out to be nothing more than a heavy bloom of soda ash. The small pits of oil, remnants of the broken emulsion, had mostly solidified as well.

I began to wonder if Soapus No. 6 wasn’t the catastrophe I thought it was.

I brought a bar into the shower for a trial run. The superficial ash washed away immediately, as did the little oil marks. What remained was a bar streaked with pale veins of soda ash — almost marble-like. And most importantly, it performed. It lathered, it rinsed clean, and it smelled wonderful. I genuinely enjoyed using it.

So I made a decision.

Soapus No. 6 is officially removed from the loss list.

It has been reborn as Soapus No. 7 — Version I: Woods Whisper.

A reminder that even a flawed batch can find its own beauty with time — and that sometimes, patience is the best ingredient in soapmaking.

Soapus No. 7– Ver III Mountain Mist (7/23/26)

My second attempt at 'my most ambitious creation to date' demanded a new level of care. This time, I watched every temperature — oils and lye — with deliberate patience. I dissolved every additive completely before combining anything else. I blended to a proper, heavier trace. In short, I left nothing to chance. At this stage of my soapmaking, success comes from discipline, not improvisation. Maybe by Soapus No. 10 or 11 or 12, intuition will take over and I’ll be able to whip up a batch with one eye closed and one hand behind my back. Time will tell.

Soapus No. 7 turned out mostly successful, but not perfect. To avoid another broken emulsion, I blended to a firm trace before pouring. The downside of a firm trace is texture — the batter becomes thick, hard to level, and needs to be pressed into the mold. That makes it difficult to eliminate air pockets or achieve a smooth top. The finished bars have uneven layers and small gaps, almost like sedimentary rock formations. Not bad, just not what I was aiming for. My ideal bar is uniform from top to bottom: a clean, homogenous block of soap. To sum it up, this batch is… ugly different.  As the artist Bob Ross might have called it, “A happy little bar of lumpy soap.” 

But the fragrance — Mountain Mist — is the standout. It’s a winner. I’m beginning to think my real strength may be in blending scents into something uniquely my own. I might be biased, since I haven’t shared these bars with anyone yet, but the fragrance gives me confidence. 

I may pause before Soapus No. 8; I now have over fifty bars waiting to be used or given away. In a few weeks, that should change. Meanwhile, I’m already sketching ideas for the next scent — something meadow‑like: dew‑kissed grass, delicate wildflowers, cool earthy air. Plenty of work ahead. 

Soapus No. 7 – Ver II (8/5/26)

“Morning Meadow”

I poured this batch on 8/5/26, and three weeks into its cure I can already say: this one feels like my pride and joy. The bars have set up beautifully — firm, smooth, and nearly flawless. Not a whisper of soda ash, not a hint of DOS, not a trace of broken emulsion. The only imperfection is my own doing: I could have leveled the batter a bit better in the mold, as a few bars lean slightly to one side. Even so, this batch truly came together for me. I’m beginning to understand that a controlled, deliberate process is the secret to a polished bar of soap. 

And the fragrance… it has been quietly perfuming my bedroom for weeks, and I love it. 

For the past three batches, I’ve kept the same base recipe, changing only the fragrance. With this batch, I was careful at every step. I matched the temperatures of the oils and lye solution. I dissolved every additive completely and pre‑hydrated the clay. I blended just past light trace — pourable, but stable — to avoid risking another broken emulsion. I covered the mold with plastic wrap as a vapor barrier to keep soda ash at bay. Nothing was left to chance. I was in control this time, and I intend to stay that way. 

New to this batch, I experimented with dusting the mold impressions lightly with cornstarch. I’d read that it can help prevent fragrance from lingering in the mold. I’m not sure how effective it was for that purpose, but I do like the soft, silken finish it left on the bars. I’ll be trying this again in the next batch. 

As for future batches, I plan to continue with the same trio of oils — Corn, Palm, and Sesame. It may very well become my signature recipe.

I’m also expanding my fragrance palette along themes of nature. I recently added Chamomile and Geranium to my essential oils so I can explore subtle floral touches. It dawned on me that flowers are part of the mountain experience — found along trails, tucked between rocks, catching morning light. Their notes belong in a meadow‑inspired fragrance, but only in whispers. Subtlety is the key.

9/10/26

Just playing with an idea and fragrance for the next Soapus...  No rush.