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  • norwegian wool: lofoten wool

    The Norwegian Wool series is finally back with another fantastic smaller company: Lofoten Wool. Wool sourced from Northern Norwegian sheep (including the Lofoten archipelago, hence the name), naturally dyed, and spun down at Hillesvåg - it's a dream. The Røst collection (pictured above, and named for the remote island where the wool is sourced) comes from the wool of the crossbred norsk kvit sau, or the Norwegian white sheep. Their heavier weight yarns are made with wool from the heritage breeds Gammelnorsk sau and spælsau. To me, Lofoten Wool's yarns are the stuff that local wool dreams are made of. (Consequently, I might adoringly gush a little bit more than usual in this post.)

    I feel like I need to provide some context to be able to adquately convey the feelings this yarn inspires. Between the northern Norwegian sheep, the natural dyes Ragnhild uses to create her beautiful colors, and the ties to specific locations within Lofoten, this company has something special going on. For those unfamiliar with the Lofoten archipelago, it lies north of the Arctic Circle and it's home to some of the most iconic Norwegian scenery there is. Islands formed from mountains that jut right out of the water make for dramatic landscapes everywhere you go, reaching out in a line from the mainland like an arm pointing toward Iceland. I haven't been as far out as Røst (where my skein of yarn's wool came from) - it's way out there - but I have passed through Lofoten twice now and spent sime time exploring Nordland, the county where Lofoten is located (Hurtigruten, the coastal ferry/cruise, passes through Lofoten). While the landscape is very different, it's easy to see similarities and find connections with other north Atlantic island communities like Iceland, the Faroe Islands, and Shetland.

    Historically, fishing was the center of life in Lofoten. North Atlantic cod come to Lofoten each year to spawn, so cod fishing was the biggest industry (and it remains a big part of the local economy today). Many of the men who fished in and around Lofoten came from other parts of Norway, and when they were on shore, they lived in fishing cabins known as rorbuer. Many of these all over Lofoten have been converted to be used by tourists now (like these). The statue in the photo above sits at the edge of the harbor in Svolvær. It's called Fiskarkona, "the fish wife," and it's by sculptor Per Ung. She faces away from the harbor, with an arm raised as if bidding farewell to her husband's boat. Life in Lofoten was harsh, and the weather meant fishing could be dangerous, so I can only imagine what it was like to bid farewell to your spouse not knowing if their boat would return home.

    This brings me back to the yarn. I feel very fortunate that my favorite local yarn store carries Lofoten Wool so that I had the opportunity to check out some of their yarns in person. The naturally dyed colors are gorgeous, and I definitely fell in love with the indigo-dyed skein pictured at the top of this post as soon as I saw it. I have plans for this particular skein, but there's enough yarn that I wanted to do a little bit of swatching just for fun, too. Both the blue shade of the yarn itself and the name of this particular color, brådjupt, bring to mind the clear blue waters of northern Norway for me (and cables felt like an appropriate medium for interpreting rippling waves). The swatch on the needles above uses a chart from Norah Gaughan's incredible Knitted Cable Sourcebook - it's a motif she calls Diverge. This 2-ply yarn from the Røst collection is a fantastically wooly wool: it's kind of crunchy and lofty at the same time, somewhat like a woolen spun Shetland yarn can be; not luxuriously soft but also not unpleasant against the skin; pretty grabby but it still manages to cable beautifully. I think we hear words like "strong" and "workhorse yarn" associated with a lot of wooly wools, especially breed-specific ones, but those phrases seem somehow too heavy to describe this yarn. It is strong - with effort, it's possible to break it instead of cutting it with scissors, but it's much harder to break than the woolen spun Shetland yarns I've used. I think this yarn also qualifies as a workhorse yarn - it's very well suited to this coastal northern Norwegian climate - but it feels lighter than that at the same time.

    Ragnhild of Lofoten Wool very kindly shared some photos of their sheep out at Røst, above - and as you can see, by the time you make it that far out, the landscape starts to look a little bit more like Shetland. What an incredible place to be a sheep, right? The sheep on Røst in the photos above are the crossbred Norwegian white sheep/norsk kvit sau. As I mentioned, Lofoten Wool's heavier weight yarns come from the wool of heritage breeds, and the following photos are Ragnhild's own flock of Gammelnorsk sau, also called villsau by some ("old Norwegian sheep" and "wild sheep," respectively, though the latter name is a misnomer as they have been a domesticated breed for over a thousand years). They live on an island much closer to mainland Norway. You'll also notice that there's natural color variation amongst the heritage breed sheep, much like other northern European heritage breeds (Shetland or Icelandic sheep, for example).

    It's such a fantastic treat to be able to knit with wool that has such traceable origins, and a huge thank you to Ragnhild for sharing these photos of the sheep with us!

    To see the yarns and other wooly goodies Lofoten Wool has on offer, head over to their online shop. Lofoten Wool does ship internationally, but you should be aware that the cost of shipping can be high (especially outside Europe), You can get a sense of shipping rates abroad from Norway here (all prices are in Norwegian kroner, but you can use Google to convert to your own currency). A list of their Norwegian stockists can be found on the home page of their website, lofoten-wool.no.

    A note: with the exception of Ragnhild's sheep photos, the photos of Lofoten featured in this post were all taken by me on a trip last August - some of them from a moving boat at dusk, so please excuse any motion blur! 

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  • inspiration: oleana

    I came across the spring 2017 collection for Oleana on social media this week, and not only did the springy pastels that feature heavily in the collection jump out at me, but I also realized that many of my readers and followers outside of Norway may be unfamiliar with Oleana. It seemed like a great opportunity for an inspiration post! That led to me digging into pieces from some of their older collections, too, which is where the first few photos in the post are from (the newest spring pieces are down below).

    To me, Oleana is best known for their striking fine-gauge knitwear. They're celebrating 25 years in business this year, having been founded in 1992 at a time when the textile industry in most wealthy, developed nations was struggling to stay alive. From the beginning, their mission has been to show that high-cost economies can still produce clothing and they can do so responsibly. Oleana is worth talking about for that reason alone - fortunately, the knitwear also happens to be beautiful. Oleana's designer is named Solveig Hisdal, and she also happens to be the company's in-house photographer. I love her use of color and gradient to play with and break up repetitive motifs - and the combination of fine gauge and machine knitting allows for more freedom than traditional Norwegian colorwork.

    Oleana's pieces are produced in their factory near Bergen - located on a fjord in Ytre Arna. The factory is open to the public as an Économusée (much like the Hillesvåg mill), which means you can actually visit and get a glimpse of the production as it happens (I haven't been, but I would love to go!). One thing that I can't say about Oleana is that as far as I know, they don't use domestic wool (most of their wool garments are made from merino/silk blends), but their emphasis on fair and responsible domestic production is hugely important in our modern textile industry, and I'm happy to elevate them for that.

    I think Solveig's design work really carries her signature. In some ways, I can see through lines with some of the work of the Rowan designers, particularly when it comes to the florals, but Solveig's pieces have a bit more saturation and flair, with a distinctive modern Scandinavian feeling. It's a step away from subtle sweeping moors and in the direction of Marimekko, if you will, while very much being its own beautiful thing.

    The spring pieces really caught my eye because of the colors used - I've been very drawn to bright, saturated spring and summer hues lately, even though it's still so very wintry outside. The return of the sun has led to a little bit of a winter outside/summer inside vibe (avocado toast with lime and cilantro, anyone?) so I enjoyed poking through the spring 2017 catalogue.

    You can view the spring 2017 catalogue here, or check out the autumn 2016 catalogue here (which the first two pieces pictured at the top of this post are from). Are those spring pastels speaking to you too right now? Particularly you east coasters in North America who just got hit with a snowstorm...

    About half of Oleana's products are sold abroad (all over Europe, the US, Canada, even Australia and Japan), so you can check out their store locator to see if there's a stockist anywhere near you. And if you live in Minnesota, Norway House in Minneapolis has an Oleana exhibition up through March 26th. You can read more about that here.

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  • march

    I think March is one of my favorite months here in Tromsø. It's often beautiful outside, and definitely still winter, but by the time we reach March we're practically dashing towards the equinox, in the middle of the few magical months where daylight and darkness are so in balance this far north. And when there's still so much snow, the daylight can have special qualities.

    On a sunny day, it can be positively blinding. But yesterday the light was stranger, moodier. A change in the weather was beginning as we moved into a week of unusually mild, above-freezing days. The clouds hung in the sky like a heavy curtain of gauze, not blocking out the sun, but turning the world around me into one big softbox. The mountains to the south looked flat, like two-dimensional block prints across the horizon in light and dark grey.

    It was, I have to admit, one of my favorite kinds of days for walking. To revel in the bright whiteness of untouched snow without being blinded by it - but at the same time getting to see depth in the sky, and knowing where the sun is too. Since I knew that the weather would be changing this week, yesterday felt like my one chance to get that kind of walk in before it all turns sloshy. The city streets quickly turn into the world's northernmost Slurpee. (That bit is not one of my favorite parts about living here.)

    In the midst of longer work days, trying to squeeze in some extra transcription for my thesis project which is now due in just two months (eek!), it was so nice to set aside a little bit of time for a long walk. Despite the shifting weather, it was very calm and quiet yesterday. I stood at the southern end of the island, and when you are standing at that point staring out across the strait at the mountains beyond, it is so easy to remember to breathe in big, and to breathe out slowly. In, and out. The slow, calming rhythm is encouraged by the gentle waves lapping at the rocks on the beach. 

    I'm sharing these photos so that I can soak up this late winter landscape - and I can't help but notice it's full of all of the colors and nuances that drew me to the sock yarn I bought in Montréal (mentioned in this post), which I've enjoyed knitting with immensely. Sometimes people ask about how my environment influences my knitwear design work, and there are several ways to answer that question - but it's always clear to me that the lanscape seeps into whatever it is I'm making through colors first and foremost. And aren't these lovely colors to see outside your window?

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  • FO: sandneskofte

    I've been meaning to get around to this post for a long time, but I had to let go of my vision for a grand snow-related photoshoot to make it happen (in the midst of my master's thesis, that's really not realistic, even if I think this cardigan deserves a grand photoshoot). So I finally got some shots - just at home, by the window in my apartment - of my finished Sandneskofte. This was my last FO of 2016, finished just in time for Christmas, and I've been wearing it very regularly ever since then.

    I've mentioned it on this blog a few times - here, for example - but if you weren't following along in Instagram, I thought I'd share a few details. This pattern is from the Norwegian book 42 norske kofter (blogged here) and my version is heavily modified. First of all, it calls for fingering weight yarn but I substituted with a heavier yarn - Kate Davies's absolutely gorgeous Scottish wool, Buachaille, in the shades Islay and Haar. This is a fantatsic wooly wool, and I am so excited to make more things using this yarn in the future - serious kudos to Kate for spearheading the production of such a beautiful domestic British wool yarn (sourced in Scotland, spun and dyed in Yorkshire). 

    Like all traditional Norwegian kofter, this cardigan is knit in the round and then steeked to create the front opening and the armholes. The Buachaille did beautifully with the steeking (and no surprise there). For those who are interested in more construction details: the body and the arms are worked separately from the bottom up, and the sleeves are sewn into the armholes after the opening is made. The pattern is for a crew neck cardigan, but I opted for a V-neck, so I began decreases after reaching a certain point on the body. Stitches were bound off for the back neck, the front openings and the armholes were reinforced before being cut open (I used the crochet method, although a sewing machine is the typical tool used in Norway), and then the shoulders were seamed before the sleeves were sewn in. The stitches for the vertical button bands were put on hold after the bottom ribbing was finished, then when the rest of the cardigan was done, the stitches on hold were put back on the needles and the button bands were knit back and forth separate from the body before being sewn on. There was a lot of finishing work for this piece - right down to the eight buttons I sewed on the front.

    I originally intended to finish the steeked edges on the inside of the fabric with some decorative ribbon, but I never go around to it (for one thing, I never came up with a clever way to deal with the angle where the straight body bends to form the V-neck) and the unfinished edges have put up absolutely zero fuss, so I will most likely leave them as-is. In the photo above you can see the light grey yarn I used to work the crochet reinforcement where I'm folding it away from the fabric, but it normally sits flush (as it does in the bottom of the photo). The cut edges of the fabric haven't budged, and I probably wear this cardigan a couple of times a week. I can heartily endorse using Buachaille for steeked projects!

    Even though I would consider myself a fairly accomplished knitter, this project still managed to check several boxes on the list of firsts. This was my first allover stranded colorwork garment, my first time steeking a cardigan opening (I had steeked armholes, but never the front of a cardigan), and my first time knitting a vertical button band (and I was very grateful for Karen Templer's "How to seam a button band" post). Even though colorwork is my usual wheelhouse, it goes to show there's always room for building new skills.

    There are a few more photos of the details as well as several in-progress photos over on my Raverly project page, if you're interested. This cardigan isn't perfect, and there are things I would change if I were to knit it again, but I love this thing. The double thickness of the stranded fabric knit at a tight gauge means it's quite warm and it's been super useful all through the Norwegian winter, and I look forward to wearing it for years to come. 

    ETA: I should mention that Kate Davies will be at Edinburgh Yarn Festival this coming weekend, just in case you're lucky enough to be going and you want to check out the yarn in person for yourself!

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  • a twist on tolt icelandic wool month

    In my last post I mentioned that I have Iceland-related knitting plans lined up for this month, although they don't exactly fit the parameters of Tolt's Icelandic Wool Month. I wrote about how Skógafjall was the result of ruminating on the historical links and similar properties of Icelandic wool and some of the Norwegian wools - and I have continued to spend a great deal of time thinking about that. Ending up with a sweater in Icelandic wool with ties to the Norwegian landscape was a lot of fun - but I've found myself thinking about the inverse, too. What about a traditional Icelandic lopapeysa pattern that's knit up in a suitable Norwegian wool?

    Since the very first time I worked with Hillesvåg's Blåne - their bulky weight pelsull yarn - I have thought it would make a good substitute for the bulky Álafoss Lopi. So I'm going to put that idea to the test! Last year I purchased a sweater's worth of undyed grey Blåne to make a pullover for Chris, but after finishing both sleeves and most of the body, I finally admitted to myself that 1) the yarn was too heavy for the pattern I'd chosen, and 2) the yarn was totally the wrong yarn for him; I bought it because*I* liked it. So I've bought replacement yarn for his sweater and I've spent months trying to find the right match for all this beautiful grey Blåne, looking for the kind of pattern that makes me think, "Yes! That's totally it!" I think something about the approach of Icelandic Wool Month finally got the gears really turning.

    A couple of years ago just before the first Icelandic Wool Month, Anna from Tolt knit a Dalur in Álafoss Lopi for a trip to Iceland she was taking that March. I've been a little bit in love with Dalur ever since, and I realized a few weeks ago that if I bought the contrasting colors, I could finally have a plan for all that grey Blåne, and I'd get to see how good a substitute it really is for Álafoss Lopi. So I bought a few skeins of the dark charcoal grey color (which is sadly discontinued, so I'm happy I could still get it locally), and since Blåne's undyed color is the medium grey, I went with a different bulky yarn base for the white - Troll, which is still a 2-ply yarn spun by Hillesvåg and still Norwegian wool, even if it's a different breed, so I'm hoping it will be a good match in the colorwork sections.

    I'm planning to at least cast on for this sweater this month, although I don't expect to finish it by the end of March (I would like to prioritize Chris's sweater!). As you can see in the photo at the top of this post, I still need to frog the pieces of last year's ill-fated first attempt to use this grey yarn, so it might be a little while before I get around to it. Nonetheless, I love working with this yarn, and I'm really looking forward to it.

    Dalur is available in the book Knitting with Icelandic Wool, which is also available in Norway under the title Islandsk StrikkWill you be doing any Iceland-related knitting this month?

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  • tolt icelandic wool month: skógafjall

    This year marks the third year in a row that Tolt Yarn and Wool in Carnation, Washington has celebrated Tolt Icelandic Wool Month for the month of March. Back in 2015, I released my hat pattern Moon Sprites in conjunction with Tolt's first celebration, last year Tolt released the beautiful Blaer cardigan by Beatrice Perron Dahlen of Thread & Ladle, and this year I'm pleased as punch to once again be contributing to this celebration of Icelandic wool. This year, I've designed Skógafjall, a bottom-up round yoke pullover knit up in Léttlopi (which is probably my favorite weight of Lopi).

    For the vast majority of us, choosing Icelandic wool doesn't mean choosing local wool (the two most obvious exceptions being people who live in Iceland, or people outside of Iceland who raise Icelandic sheep). But it does mean supporting the yarn industry of Iceland, a country whose population is smaller than most cities I've lived in - and that means a lot. And the wool itself is reason enough for me to choose it, since it both affordable and adaptable, suitable to many different types of winter (and sometimes summer) climates. It's definitely suitable to my current northern Norwegian climate, and that is part of how I arrived at the design that became Skógafjall. I've spent a lot of time thinking about the ties between Icelandic and Norwegian wools, and the historical genetic links between the heritage sheep breeds found in these two countries - and all of that led me to want to design a sweater that pointed at that shared heritage in some way.

    So while it uses Icelandic wool, this sweater is inspired by my local Norwegian landscape and the verdant mountains I'm surrounded by in the summer months. The geology of Norway is quite different than Iceland's - Iceland straddles two continental plates and its geothermal activity means it's made up of cooled lava fields and volcanic rock, whereas Norway's rocky landscape is largely sedimentary. The deep green body of Skógafjall gives way to lighter greenery in the yoke and finally a heathery grey at the neck, which mimicks the rocky mountaintops of my immediate surroundings - and they're easy to see when the tree line is as low as it is in Tromsø. 

    The yoke pattern is equally evocative of the local landscape around western Washington, which makes it feel like a fantastic fit for Tolt and this annual celebration. The name Skógafjall can be translated as "forest mountain," more or less - though we've dubbed it "a sweater for exploring the forest, mountain, city or sea," and I think it would be just as at home in all of those places. 

    You can find Skógafjall on Ravelry here, or on the Tolt website here. Huge thanks to the whole Tolt team for letting me be a part of Icelandic Wool Month once again, and making sure this pattern got done in time while dealing with my grad school schedule - Anna, Clare, Karen (who knit the beautiful sample!), Kim (who modeled it so beautifully in these photos), and everyone else. You're all the best. And I can't forget to mention that Narangkar Glover did a lovely illustration of Skógafjall for a new Tolt project bag, too! It's available in the Tolt shop here.

    I have Iceland-related knitting plans lined up for this month, although my yarn choice is a little unorthodox - but I'll save that for another post.

    Related posts from previous years:

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  • project planning: soothing knits

    I mentioned on Instagram this week that I've been in a little bit of a slump lately. I'm sure there are several contributing factors - the slog of mid-winter (and so far one with much less snow than usual), the feelings that come with the weird middle stretch of my thesis work (totally normal, but hard to shake all the same), and the political situation back in my home country (let's just go with "it's a mess" and not say any more about that here, shall we?). I also fell of the metaphorical horse with my exercise plan after several months of working out regularly and it's been hard to find my way back in. Exercise makes a huge difference when you're feeling down, or at least it does for me. Nonetheless, I feel like I'm on the upward curve again, thankfully. 

    A trip to Montreal at the end of January helped with that. I've been before, but it's still not a city I know very well, so there's so much to explore - and as a result, seemingly endless inspiration. I popped into La Maison Tricotée while I was there on a beautifully sunny Sunday, where I picked up a skein of sock yarn as a souvenir. That seemed like a great way to kick off a post of my upcoming knitting plans - and I think you'll sense a theme: soothing, repetitive knits.

    The skein of sock yarn I brought back from Montréal is Riverside Studio's Merino Cashmere Nylon fingering in the colorway Storm. I've knit exactly one pair of socks using a sock yarn with cashmere - these plain stockinette socks in Dream in Color's Smooshy with Cashmere - and they shot to the top of my "favorites to wear" list almost immediately. The cashmere feels so luxurious. So when I saw a merino cashmere base at La Maison Tricotée, I jumped on it. Riverside Studio was new to me, but Kat is located in Farrellton, Québec, not too far from Ottawa, and it felt good to bring something home from a Québecois dyer. I like these colors, too, and the way they bring to mind winter to me - on some of Kat's other bases, this color seems a bit bluer and more saturated, but something about the merino/cashmere/nylon base takes the color a little bit differently, and it really feels like it suggests snow, water in the mist, the sea reflecting snow clouds, and bare branches all at once.

    I plan to make a pair of Siv socks with this yarn, from the first issue of Laine magazine. Another of my all-time favorite pairs of socks is my Twisted Flower socks, from the pattern by Cookie A - but I know that the allover traveling-stitches-and-lace pattern will be too much for me when I'm working to get my thesis done. Siv's panel of traveling stitches feels like a nice compromise. But I won't be starting these until I finish my current sock project...

    When I got back from Montréal I started a pair of Fika socks, with this springy green Jorstad Creek BFL Tweed Sock yarn. The twisted rib leg and stockinette foot definitely counts as repetitive and soothing right now, and I've wanted to make a pair of Fika socks since the issue of Pom Pom that they're in first came out - nearly two years ago now. I've been wanting to use the yarn even longer - it's been in my stash since 2013, since I bought it at Knit Fit in Seattle, where I had a booth at the marketplace and the Jorstad Creek both was right across from mine. I'm about halfway through the first sock now and it feels so good to finally use a yarn that's just been languishing in the stash for years. 

    I've also been thinking about what I want to do with these two skeins of Woolfolk Tynd in Pewter. I bought them back in 2014 and I originally planned to make a pair of Fure armwarmers from Woolfolk's first pattern collection with them, but I've gone this long without casting on even though I really want to work with this yarn. So I've come to terms with the fact that it's probably not the right pattern for me (and besides, my Inglis mitts are plenty long for me, it turns out). Again, I've been thinking about patterns that are soothing and repetitive, which will fill a gap in my wardrobe, and I'm pretty sure some kind of simple cowl would be a good way to go here. The Woolfolk is really soft, which makes it an ideal next-to-the-skin sort of yarn, and a cozy cowl I can tuck into the top of my coat when it's not cold enough for a big scarf sounds fantastic. I'm not totally set on this yet, but I'm thinking about Lilac Wine by Amy Christoffers, which is a perfect blank canvas for a really beautiful yarn to shine. (Note that Amy's site no longer seems to be active, so clicking the link on Ravelry will give you an error message, but you can copy/paste the direct link into the Wayback Machine at archive.org to access it). For a stretchy cowl, the difference in yarn weight isn't an issue.

    There are more projects in the pipeline, but I'm trying not too get too ahead of myself as long as my thesis is my main focus. But these are some of the projects and yarns I'm looking forward to the most. Interestingly, two of these involve a lot of 1x1 ribbing and one involves traveling stitches - and I recognize that for some folks, neither of those things says "soothing." So I'm curious: what kind of knitting is most soothing for you? Are there particular kinds of yarns, projects, or stitch patterns you gravitate towards when you want some easy comfort knitting? I'd love to know!

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  • noteworthy: nordic knitting & wool

    I've been collecting some interesting links and resources in the past couple of months related to Norwegian wool and knitting and the Nordic wool scene more broadly - and I thought it'd be nice to share a few of them with you here. 

    First up: I wrote recently about the fantastic Bladet Garn, a new Norwegian (and Norwegian language) knitting mag that I'm super excited about. Another new Nordic magazine has joined the scene as of December, and those of you who aren't Norwegian speakers may have already heard about it, because this one's published in English: Laine Magazine, which is based in Finland (incidentally, "laine" is the French word for wool but apparently means "wave" in Finnish - I would be curious to hear more about the choice of name from the creators). Laine is dark but rich; luxurious and beautiful, like the last rays of sun coming through the trees of a forest in winter. I finally got a copy this week and while both the magazine and the patterns are gorgeous, the "& lifestyle" part of the "knit & lifestyle magazine" might get me the most excited: articles covering topics like a farm in western Finland dedicated to two domestic sheep breeds (pictured above), a feature on Helga Isager, a travel guide to Lisbon with its color and pattern inspiration, an interview with Stephen West, and some seriously delicious-looking recipes (chocolate cake with dried flowers and flaked sea salt, anyone?) - and that's not even covering everything. In a way it's much more like a book than a magazine, justifying the cost, which makes it somewhat of a luxury. But it is the perfect luxury for a long, slow weekend morning and I can't wait to spend some more time with the articles. My favorite patterns from issue one include Piece of Silver by Veera Välimäki and Siv by Heid Alander, but you can check out all of the patterns on Ravelry here. Laine is set to be published twice a year, I believe, and you can keep up with them on Instagram, or find a stockist near you on their website.

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    Simone of Temple of Knit has started a new interview series on her blog called Nordic Makers, with the intent to share conversations with the people and the businesses shaping her "immediate fiber world" - or more specifically, the fiber community that spans the Nordic region (Norway, Denmark, Sweden, Finland, Iceland, the Faroe Islands, and to an extent, Greenland). Simone herself is a Dane living in southern Sweden, and her first interview of the series is with Louisa Bond, a Norwegian based in Oslo, whose blog Worn Values is a welcome addition to my daily blog reader. I highly recommend checking out Louisa's blog as well as Simone's, and Simone's introduction post to her Nordic Makers series is a good one to read, too. Louisa's recent posts on three ways to mend your knits and this guide to ethical shoes were both particularly interesting and useful.

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    Husfliden, the Norwegian Folk Art and Craft Association, is putting on a conference about Norwegian wool this April: Ullialt - Konferanse om norsk ull. This one is definitely for Norwegian speakers, and with my thesis work I doubt I'll be able to go (sadly!), but it's taking place April 20-23 in Stjørdal, just outside Trondheim (effectively right next to the Trondheim airport). The description roughly reads: "We invite the whole wool supply chain to come and join in as we build enthusiasm and knowledge about Norwegian wool - in industry, in design, in agriculture and handicrafts. How can Norwegians make better use of our own domestic wool?" It's exactly the sort of thing I get excited about, so I hope this won't be a one-off thing. Hat-tip to Norwegian wool hero Tone Tobiasson for the heads up.

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    These natural grey wool fabrics from Norway Cloth / Varp og Veft are making my heart flutter. The wool comes from Grey Trønder sheep (Grå Trøndersau) and both the yarn and the fabric are produced here in Norway. It's almost enough to make me want to give sewing another proper try... But on a related note, if you want to get a feel for the wool from the Trønder sheep, Selbu Spinneri sells trøndersau yarns (although I don't know what their international shipping policy is). In any case, this particular pattern is my favorite of the fabrics from Norway Cloth. They also sell finished objects made from the fabrics, like cushions.

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    There's more to share, but I'll save that for another day!

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  • best of 2016

    Already we are the better part of a week into the new year, but I've been traveling and I've only just gotten home, so I hope you'll humor me with one or two looks back to 2016 in the coming days. Mostly I just wanted to pop by to say that I have a few blog posts in the pipeline, but in the meantime I decided to take a quick look at which of my blog posts from 2016 was most popular, and I thought you might find that interesting too:

    1. Norwegian wool: Rauma Garn
    2. Project Planning
    3. 42 norske kofter
    4. Norwegian wool: Hillesvåg Ullvarefabrikk
    5. Slow Fashion October: my first sweater

    I'm pleased there's been interest in the Norwegian wool series, as I'm planning to continue that into this year (and I already know which company I'll be featuring next). Other than Norwegian wool, Norwegian knitting and sweaters are both themes that came out on top - so I expect you'll be pleased once I get some proper photos taken for a post about my finished Sandneskofte, which I'm looking forward to writing. Looking beyond posts from just 2016, all of my support/tutorial posts got a lot of traffic as well, so I'm so pleased to see that those continue to be useful to knitters!

    There's a little bit of crossover with my most popular Instagram posts of 2016, which you can see here if you don't follow me on Instagram. 

    I'll be back very soon with more, but until then, I'm wishing you the happiest of new years for 2017! 

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  • inspiration: miscellany

    It's been awhile since I've done an old-school "inspiration" post, but at the beginning of this darkest week of the year, it's feeling like a good time to revive it. Here are a few things I'm really digging at the moment, as pictured above:

    Row 1: Rauma is selling several different ready-to-wear sweaters at Husfliden at the moment, most of which are recognizeable Norwegian classics like the Fana sweater, Marius, and the Setesdal sweater. I've become quite enamored with the cheery yellow Fana (left), which is a machine knit, as well as the Varde sweater (right), a less well-known pattern - but those greens! To be honest, the photos don't do either of the sweaters justice. If you're in Norway I suggest popping into a Husfliden store to check them out.

    Row 2: today I came across the incredibly detailed embroidery work of Chloe Giordano, whose wee creatures are so lifelike I can hardly believe it. While her original pieces are expensive to own (for good reason), she sells prints and card sets featuring her work as well, which is such a treat. She's on Instagram at @chloegiordano_embroidery.

    Row 3: German indie dyer Welthase has been running a special advent calendar this year with one-off yarns listed for one day only, and the colors have been absolutely slaying me. It's tough to actually nab any of these skeins, but fortunately for us, Miriam has a lot of beautiful non-advent yarns on offer as well (I used Miriam's yarns for my Swedish Pancakes pattern and it's gorgeous stuff). You can follow Miriam (and see all this year's advent calendar yarns) on Instagram at @welthase.

    Row 4: while I'm not sure I could pull it off in my home, these knitting-themed wallpapers from Murals Wallpaper are pretty fun and it's cool to see what types of fabric they feature. My favorite, unsurprisingly, is the stranded colorwork one, pictured on the left. The oversized stockinette, at right, reminds me of my friend Kathleen's big knitted rug

    I hope you have a good week this week, and wherever you are, I hope you have more daylight than I do!

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