Scandinavian Advent Calendar Day 9
Among the many sustainable daily rituals that distinguish Scandinavian life, few have captured my imagination quite like knitting. The Nordic countries have cultivated a particular genius with natural fibers and pattern work—from Iceland’s robust lopi wool to the delicate snowflake motifs that dance across Norwegian lusekofter (lice jackets, so named for the small dotted patterns). These traditions speak of resourcefulness transformed into artistry, of long winter evenings made productive and beautiful.
I confess that colorwork knitting—that mesmerizing technique of carrying multiple yarn strands to create intricate patterns—has long intimidated me, even as it fascinated. The mathematics of it, the rhythm required, the discipline of following charts row by meticulous row: all of it seemed rather beyond my usual improvisational approach to making. Yet this Advent season felt like the proper moment to face that intimidation, to sit down with needles and a proper Nordic pattern and see what might emerge.
This endeavor, I quickly discovered, required a guide. I am ordinarily a devotee of YouTube tutorials, teaching myself through observation and repetition. But for traditional Scandinavian colorwork, video resources proved surprisingly scarce. And so: back to books, that most reliable of teachers. I selected a comprehensive volume on Nordic knitting techniques and settled in to decode my first proper chart—a humbling exercise for someone accustomed to working intuitively, without patterns or counting.
I grew up surrounded by knitters. Every woman in my family could produce anything from the simplest sock to the most complex sweater, needles clicking through conversations and television programs with barely a glance at their hands. As a child, I found it unremarkable—merely functional, a way to clothe a family economically. Only later did I discover knitting’s quieter pleasures: the meditative rhythm, the tangible progress, the satisfaction of creating something both beautiful and useful from a simple strand of fiber.
And now, it seems, the wider world has rediscovered what our grandmothers—and those legendary Scandinavian grandmothers—always knew. Knitting has returned to visibility: on subway cars and in cafĂ©s, practiced by women and men alike, celebrated in lifestyle magazines as both craft and wellness practice. The medical research confirms what knitters have long felt: the repetitive motion lowers blood pressure, eases anxiety and depression, even helps manage chronic pain through gentle distraction and focus. Our ancestors weren’t simply being productive; they were, without naming it as such, practicing self-care.
A short note on how and why I share book links
For me, knitting and audiobooks have always been natural companions. The hands occupy themselves while the mind travels elsewhere—a particular kind of doubled pleasure. This month, I’ve been listening to Helen Russell’s The Year of Living Danishly, a memoir both humorous and illuminating. Russell, a British journalist, relocated with her husband to rural Jutland and spent a year documenting their immersion in Danish culture. Her observations are sharp, her affection genuine, her honesty refreshing. I’ve enjoyed the audiobook immensely, though I’m grateful to have the physical edition as well—Russell closes each chapter with distilled wisdom worth returning to, small meditations on what the Danes understand about living well.
As for my own knitting project: it remains in progress, needles clicking away through these December evenings. No grand reveal just yet, though those of you who follow along on Instagram may catch glimpses as it takes shape. These things, after all, cannot be rushed—a lesson the Nordic countries have much to teach us about.
Until tomorrow, dear friends—may your needles be swift and your yarn untangled.
Written by Alexandra Poppy
Writer, reader & curator of The Ritual of Reading
I’m Alexandra, the voice behind The Ritual of Reading. Somewhere between a stack of novels and a half-finished pot of tea, I keep finding traces of the life I want to live—slower, richer, filled with stories. The Ritual of Reading is where I gather what I love: books that linger, places with a past, and rituals that make ordinary days feel a little more meaningful. I write from Paris, where elegant bookshops and old-fashioned cafĂ©s offer endless inspiration—and I share it here, hoping it brings a spark to your own days, too.
