Remembrance Day November 11, 2025 There is a particular stillness to this morning — a hush that feels sacred. Across the years and the distances, we pause together, hearts attuned to memory. The world seems to hold its breath for a moment, and in that silence we feel the presence of those who once stood…
Voices of Nordfjord, Echoes of Sognefjord
Threads of the North weaves Norway’s fjords, legends, and landscapes into reflections on memory, resilience, and belonging. From the summit of Mount Hoven, the world unfurls in breathtaking clarity. Below, the twin arms of Nordfjord—glacial, serene, and impossibly deep—stretch outward, their still waters reflecting the jagged brow of the mountains. This place feels ancient, carved…
Porridge with Butter: Memory in a Bowl
Threads of the North weaves Norway’s fjords, legends, and landscapes into reflections on memory, resilience, and belonging. The bowl arrives warm, simple, unadorned — porridge with a golden pat of butter melting slowly in the centre. Steam rises, carrying the faint sweetness of grain and the richness of cream. In Norway, this is more than…
In the Presence of Absence – For My Father
“We have no claim to any of our possessions. We have no claim to exist; and, as we have to die in the end, so we must resign ourselves to die piecemeal, which really happens when we lose somebody or something that was closely intertwined with our existence.” George Santayana Fourteen years ago today—on a…
The Divorce, the Bishop, and the Birth of a Cathedral
Threads of the North weaves Norway’s fjords, legends, and landscapes into reflections on memory, resilience, and belonging. Every cathedral has its origin story, but few are quite so dramatic as the tale told in Stavanger. Some say it began not with saints or relics, but with a royal quarrel. In the early 1100s, King Sigurd…
The White Houses of Gamle Stavanger: Resilience by the Fjord
Threads of the North weaves Norway’s fjords, legends, and landscapes into reflections on memory, resilience, and belonging. In the glow of a summer afternoon, Gamle Stavanger’s white wooden houses shimmer like something out of memory — neat picket fences, roses tumbling over gates, cobblestone lanes leading down to the harbour. At first glance, they appear…
Clanmother 
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