This is a hard admission for me – I didn’t quite get Christmas right this year.

The cottage was decorated with huge paper snowflakes, evergreen branches and red wooden hearts and of course there were candles lit everywhere. There were moments of hygge; wrapping gifts, drinking Schnapps and laughing hopelessly with my eldest daughter and her silly, loving man, the glow of the fire, waiting for the whole almond in the risalamande on Christmas Eve, standing in front of the tree bright with candles, looking down the length of two tables pushed together at our family and friends gathered to celebrate, sitting alone at the bottom of the stairs to keep the tree company for a little longer before bed.  I held on to those moments but my underlying feeling was of the silence and real stillness that was escaping me, possibly us all.

How many of us really found the peace we look for at the close of the year, the space for just a bit of contemplation and time to feel restored?  If we’re honest, could we admit to feeling compelled to uphold all those lovely winter traditions for each other but silently bear the mounting cost? I don’t just mean the escalating price of the gifts we choose to give or the pace of the festivities, I mean the fatigue of pretence. Honesty and real hygge are interlaced.

Hygge isn’t the ‘complete absence of anything overwhelming’ that it’s often declared to be. It’s a practical way of creating sanctuary in the middle of very real life, a way of illuminating the dark and inviting the warmth, simplicity and connection that contrast chaos and smooth anxiety.

Hygge can’t really happen if we are hiding from reality, from admitting to the strain of expense and expectation. Few of us can comfortably sustain the pretence that Christmas and New Year don’t bring enormous strain for thousands of people but with honesty and a good dose of love we can make it easier.

Lighting a candle doesn’t pay the bills, empty the septic tank or excuse spending wildly in the post Christmas sales but it can help us keep perspective and remember to celebrate the light in each other through the year to come.  Lou x

‘A crowd is not company; and faces are but a gallery of pictures; and talk but a tinkling cymbal, where there is no love.’

Francis Bacon

The house is still and warm. Sun is melting the night frost. I am alone in our bed, writing and procrastinating. There are uniforms to be washed, three dogs to walk, grates to be emptied, books to be written and calls to be made. But I’m making cups of ‘Mother Pukka‘ tea, eating apples and toasted rye bread, pinching Christmas chocolate from the fridge and scrolling through Maria Popova‘s inspired literary jukebox to listen to great tunes, cut and paste quotes for you and celebrate my solitude.  To be alone is easy when you feel loved.

Lou x

Through recent years I have found my kinfolk – the friends and family who are my tribe, who understand my language and wholeheartedly share their own with me.

They are the makers, writers, potters, thinkers, weavers, painters, walkers, clog wearers, tattooed dancers, gardeners, photographers, drummers, crafters, DJs and homemakers; the coffee drinkers, festival goers, diamond divers, teachers, bakers, mothers, fire keepers, cooks and foragers:

the people who have offered me friendship, love, sanctuary and opportunity.

Imagine how happy I was to find the first copy of Kinfolk. I felt as if the twenty years I had been parenting, nurturing, home-keeping, dancing, travelling, teaching (and reading Hopkins and Mary Oliver to keep my head above water) were all well spent.

I had been led to the right place and had waited for my youngest child to grow more independent before I could dedicate time to the writing I have always longed to do.

In my hand was a magazine created for ‘a growing community of artists with a shared interest in small gatherings’; a magazine that spoke to me, that seemed relevant, that recognises that ‘there is something about a table shared by friends…that anchors our relationships and energizes us’.

Kinfolk is about connection and community.  And hygge.

The current volume is dedicated to the people who quietly make things happen at this time of year – the people at the heart of our festivities who know how to hygge, how to reach out, how to prepare our food, honour traditions, light candles and plan our merrymaking.

I’m so proud to be a contributor.

Lou x

“Be strong, serve patiently, love generously, live simply. Enjoy fellowship. eat and drink modestly, celebrate the festivals. Breathe deeply, sing and make music, walk often, cycle and recycle. Be thrifty, prefer cash-flow to possession, give good measure. Let your work be your prayer.”

(An extract from Towards a True Balance by John P. Rogers)

Lou x