Soap: Crafting Simplicity and Suds in Plover, Wisconsin

In the quiet village of Plover, Wisconsin, where the streets hum with small-town charm and the Plover River whispers through the trees, Jenny Soaper is busy doing what she loves: making soap. Her handcrafted soap business, simply called “Soap,” is a reflection of her no-nonsense approach to life—straightforward, honest, and made with care. Alongside her daughter Aimee, Jenny has turned a humble hobby into a local treasure, filling homes with the scent of lavender, cedar, and a little bit of Plover magic.

The Birth of “Soap”

Jenny didn’t set out to start a business. “I just wanted to make soap,” she says with a shrug, her hands dusted with oatmeal from her latest batch. The name “Soap” came from that same simplicity—why overthink it? It began eight years ago, in 2017, when Jenny, then 46, grew tired of store-bought bars that left her skin dry and her wallet empty. A self-taught tinkerer, she dove into the world of saponification, mixing oils and lye in her kitchen while her golden retriever, Midge, napped nearby.

Her first bars—chunky, uneven rectangles of olive oil and lavender—were a hit with her family. Aimee, then 19 and home from college, suggested they sell a few at the Plover Farmers’ Market. “Mom’s too practical to call it anything fancy,” Aimee laughs. “But people loved it.” That summer, “Soap” was born, with a folding table, a handwritten sign, and a basket of bars wrapped in brown paper. Today, it’s a thriving small business, operating out of a converted garage behind Jenny’s modest ranch house on Cedar Drive.

A Mother-Daughter Duo

“Soap” is a true team effort. Jenny, now 54, is the mastermind behind the recipes, her steady hands measuring coconut oil, shea butter, and essential oils with the precision of a chemist. Her favorites are the earthy scents—think cedarwood or patchouli—but she’ll whip up a citrus burst if Aimee begs her to. Aimee, 27, brings the flair, handling packaging, social media, and the occasional market stall. With her art school background, she’s turned plain bars into little masterpieces, stamping them with a simple “S” and tying them with twine.

The garage workshop is a cozy chaos of molds, drying racks, and jars of dried herbs—rosemary from Jenny’s garden, chamomile from a friend down the road. They make small batches, about 50 bars at a time, each one cut by hand and cured for weeks to perfection. Best-sellers include “Lavender Calm,” a soothing staple, and “Oatmeal Scrub,” a gritty bar that locals swear by for winter-dry skin. Everything’s natural, no synthetic fragrances or dyes—just soap, the way Jenny likes it.

Jenny’s Life in Plover

Jenny Soaper’s life is as unpretentious as her business. Born and raised in Plover, she’s a fixture in the community—a wiry woman with a quick laugh and a habit of waving at every car that passes. She bought her house 20 years ago with her late partner, Dan, a carpenter who built the garage she now uses for “Soap.” Dan passed away from cancer in 2014, leaving Jenny to raise Aimee alone. “He’d get a kick out of this,” she says, nodding at the soap racks. “He always said I’d find my thing.”

A widow with a practical streak, Jenny works part-time as a cashier at the Plover IGA to keep the bills paid, but “Soap” is her heart. She’s up at dawn, tending her garden or stirring a batch before her shift, Midge still snoozing at her feet. Aimee, who moved back to Plover after a stint in Milwaukee, lives in a tiny apartment downtown but spends most days with her mom. “She’s my rock,” Aimee says. “And I’m her push—to keep this going.”

Jenny’s life is quiet but full. She loves Plover’s rhythm—the farmers’ market in summer, the river’s freeze in winter, the way neighbors drop by with coffee just to chat. “Soap” fits right in, sold at the market, a few local shops, and online to a growing handful of fans. Last year, they shipped bars as far as Minnesota, though Jenny still marvels at the idea. “Who’d have thought my soap would leave Plover?” she muses.

Suds with Soul

“Soap” isn’t about flash—it’s about feel. Customers rave about the creamy lather, the way it lasts longer than the big brands, and the little imperfections that prove it’s handmade. Jenny donates unsellable bars—ones with cracked edges or uneven cuts—to the local shelter, a quiet nod to Dan’s generosity. “It’s just soap,” she says, “but it’s mine.”

As “Soap” nears its ninth year, Jenny and Aimee are content to keep it small. Aimee dreams of a website upgrade, maybe a holiday gift set, but Jenny’s happy as is—stirring, cutting, and watching Plover embrace her work. “This is home,” she says, wrapping a bar in paper. “And this is enough.”

So, if you’re in Plover, peek into the farmers’ market or knock on Jenny’s garage door. Grab a bar of “Soap,” breathe in its simple goodness, and meet the woman who turned a practical whim into a little piece of Wisconsin soul—one sudsy square at a time.