The Never-Ending Project

Kim Weitkamp
Nov 7
3 min read

Updated: Nov 13

I have a confession: In 2021 started an ambitious knitting project (at least for me it was). It’s called the Crazed Scandinavian Cowl, and it has 18 very different colorwork charts. 18. Let that sink in. There are few points where you can get into any easy rhythm, you gotta pay attention with this one.

If you’re imagining me sitting in a cozy armchair, blissfully knitting away for hours each day, I hate to break it to you: that’s not my reality. My life, like many of yours, doesn’t allow for marathon knitting sessions. Sometimes I get 2–5 rounds done in a day (rarely) but most often, it’s once a week. And in my world, those 2–5 rounds are nothing short of miraculous. Plus, I always have several projects on the burner that I switch my attention to depending on my mood.

Over the last four years I've pulled this particular project out around late fall and work on it till the beginning of January (the busiest time of the year, not sure what I am thinking).

This cowl has become a

slow-motion heirloom, stitched one careful round at a time.

Recently, I pulled it out again to dedicate the next 2–3 months to working on it. The minute I held it in my hands I was hit with a serious wave of emotion that I didn’t expect. It was like seeing an old friend I hadn’t connected with in months. I thought through this and realized why: I started this project during a very challenging season of my life. It was the same time I found out my husband had cancer, which eventually led me to close my beloved yarn shop.

This cowl has been with me through heartbreak and celebration alike. It’s traveled with me on the road during my work as a performer, crisscrossing at minimum 9 states. It’s been there with me and my grandchildren, in quiet moments of joy. It was there when my mother-in-law was diagnosed with cancer, through her hospice care, and beyond her passing. It has been my companion in grief, my anchor in uncertainty, my quiet celebration in everyday life.

And then there’s the Secret Stitching Society. For the past four years, I’ve been surrounded by women who have become a second family - friends who understand the language of stitches, fiber, gathering and the therapy of creating with your hands. We don’t just make things; we make meaning.

Each stitch carries a little piece of our lives. Some are ordinary moments, cups of coffee, snippets of conversation, the comfort of quiet focus. Others are monumental: births, deaths, illnesses, travels.

It’s easy to underestimate the power in a single project, whether it’s a cowl, a quilt, a painting, or any act of creation. But these handmade items are more than craft- they are witnesses to our lives. Each stitch is imbued with memory, emotion, and intention (and Netflix binging).

The work itself becomes a kind of journal, recording not what we say out loud, but what we live, feel, and endure.

Pulling the cowl out now, after all these months, I realize it is not just a knitting project. It is a tapestry of my last four years. It has held my laughter, my tears, my travel stories, my grief, and my small triumphs.

And in some quiet, magical way, it reminds me that even when life feels overwhelming, I have carried on, round by round, stitch by stitch.

So, I will pick up my needles, and I will knit. Not because I have to finish this project quickly, or because anyone else cares about the pace of my stitches. I will knit because the act itself matters. It is a thread connecting me to my past, to the people I love, and to the life I continue to live.

And when I finally close up the last stitch, it will be more than just a cowl. It will be a testament to resilience, creativity, and the quiet, enduring power of hands at work.