Traditional Finnish Handicrafts – Knitting and a Woven Splint Basket + NEW KNITTING PATTERN
In my last post, and especially in my video, I talked about the need to slow down. When life is full of many things on many fronts, and you don’t want to give up any of them, the only option is to slow everything down—otherwise, the ship might just tip over.
The need to slow down has been particularly present in recent weeks. It seems to surface every spring. Spring moves so fast—not just in life, but in nature as well. Here in the north, the light increases at an incredible pace every day. The dark, quiet moments I cherish disappear, and soon, summer erases them completely. My mind and body struggle to keep up, to remember that just because it’s bright outside doesn’t mean every hour has to be spent working. It’s something I have to consciously pay attention to.
One thing that helps is naturally slow activities. Especially handicrafts—there’s a deep, almost primal satisfaction in making something with my hands. Maybe we humans are wired for this kind of work, for touching, shaping, and creating—rather than just tapping screens and pushing buttons.
Some time ago, I attended a course at a local community college where we learned how to make a traditional woven splint basket.
We started with a wooden log about one and a half meters long and as thick as a grown person's handspan, along with an axe and a chisel. The log was split in half, and then each half was further divided again and again until the pieces became thin enough to pull apart by hand. This is how we created the strips for our own baskets.
Weaving the basket itself was, if not exactly easy, at least easier compared to pulling the splints apart. Stripping the wood by hand (we were taught that splints are pulled, not torn) was sweaty and strenuous work, but it also required precision, deep concentration, and even listening to the wood.
Yes, listening—to sense where it could still be split without breaking into pieces.
The splints need to be as thin as possible (the most skilled artisans can produce almost translucent shavings) yet still flexible. That’s why the wood used for splint-making must be both fresh and old—preferably a slow-growing pine from the edge of a bog. These days, finding such a tree and getting permission to cut it down is a challenge in itself. According to our instructor, the tree used in our course wasn’t exactly the finest specimen.
Each participant in the course managed to make a splint basket and take it home. There were leftover splints that no one wanted, so in addition to my basket, I got to take them with me.
The instructor lamented that these traditional skills are a disappearing part of our cultural heritage. As far as he knew, he was one of the last remaining splint basket makers in the area. I couldn’t help but think how incredible it would be to carry on such a tradition myself.
Old handicraft skills are both fascinating and valuable, yet they are vanishing so easily when mass-produced items can be bought for next to nothing.
I took the splints home and, following the instructor’s guidance, wove a second splint basket.
What’s remarkable about a splint basket—like many other traditional handicrafts—is that it’s made entirely of wood. No thread, no glue, no wire, nails, or staples. Just a single material, skillfully woven into a sturdy basket. It’s challenging to make, but the idea itself is beautiful.
After a few hours of struggling (it turned out to be much harder to make at home without the instructor’s guidance and extra hands), I finally completed the second splint basket of my life.
It may not have turned out particularly beautiful, but it’s completely functional—and more importantly, I was able to engrain the process a little better into my memory and hands.
We already use a lot of old splint baskets at home, ones I’ve found at flea markets. Now, we also have new ones—made by me.
On the left is the splint basket I made during the course, designed for berry picking, and on the right is a smaller one I intended to use as a bread basket.
In addition to making splint baskets, knitting is, of course, another slow, calming, and deeply meaningful craft for me. Its meditative, quiet rhythm soothes the mind—and as a bonus, it creates essential garments and accessories.
Lately, I’ve also been exploring the world of designing my own knitting patterns. Somehow, the ideas just keep coming, and I can’t seem to stop! Every design is born from my own needs here in the northern climate—warm, durable, nature-inspired pieces with a traditional Finnish and Nordic touch.
That’s how my latest sock pattern came to life. It’s a continuation of my Flakes of Snow mittens (the pattern is still available here if you haven’t had the chance to knit them yet).
So here they are—Flakes of Snow socks.
The Flakes of Snow socks are knitted using three colors, but only two are used at a time. I personally love this approach and often look for patterns that don’t have too many colors in one round. The Flakes of Snow socks feature a traditional reinforced heel flap to ensure durability. The sole has dense fair isle knitting, which not only adds beauty but also provides extra strength to the part of the sock that will undergo the most wear and tear.
You can purchase the Flakes of Snow socks directly from my website here:
I knitted the socks using the Finnish Pentti yarn, made by a company called Vuonue. Pentti yarn is absolutely wonderful, made from 100% Finnish wool (by the way, did you know that, not all yarns that advertise being domestic does not always use domestic wool?) and dyed in the most beautiful colors. I found the perfect shades for the Flakes of Snow socks, which match the Flakes of Snow mittens perfectly. You can purchase Vuonue's yarns here.
And to stay on the right side of the law, I must mention that Vuonue kindly gifted me these yarns to design the sock pattern, so this info and yarn enthusiasm counts as an advertisement. (In Finland and the EU, advertising regulations are very strict. Any products received for free or at a discount are also considered advertising, so I try to be very careful with this as well.)
I wish you wonderfully calm, slow, yet inspiring spring days. I’ll be back soon with a new video and writing. It might even be surprisingly spring-like, as the snow is melting before my eyes, and spring might arrive a month earlier than usual. Yikes!
🖤 Sanna