Dear fellow fabric lovers,
Have you ever had a childhood dream that felt too silly to name?
For me, it was seeing the North.
I still remember learning about a place where the sun doesn’t rise in winter and night never comes in summer — so remote that only small birch trees survive, and even they struggle. Ever since then, the North lived in my imagination as something almost unreal.
This winter, I finally went. 
We traveled to Lapland, as far north as we could — not quite the North Cape, but close. And I brought my newly designed Chill and Thrill quilt with me. Not only for photos (snow and penguins are a perfect match — yes, wrong pole, but we’ll allow ourselves this tiny geographical sin), but also as a quiet companion. A witness. Proof that I was really there.
The Journey North
We landed in Ivalo — the northernmost airport in the European Union. From there, we kept moving north — eventually reaching about 380 km inside the Polar Circle.
With every kilometer, the world simplified. Dense pine forests slowly gave way to white birches, then to low shrubs barely rising above the snow. Villages grew smaller. Roads quieter. The light lower.
The further north we went, the more space there was — and the less noise.
The Chill and Thrill quilt kept pulling me outside for “just one more photo”: to feel the wind, to sink my boots into deep snow, to breathe in the vastness and stare at the sky. And honestly — without those cheerful penguins staring back at me, I might have stayed indoors more often. Taking your gloves off to use a camera at -15°C is not a decision you take lightly.
Light in the Arctic
For quilting and photography, light is everything — and in the Arctic, it behaves very differently.
Days were short. At the most Northern point, barely five hours long, as it was only two weeks after the end of the polar night. Even at midday, the sun stayed low, sometimes never rising above the hills. It felt like morning and evening happening at the same time.
But what the Arctic lacks in daylight, it gives back in color. The landscape itself is mostly white and grey — all the drama comes from the sky. Long sunrises and sunsets stretched over hours, painting everything in pinks, oranges, and violets.
Here, the sky isn’t a backdrop.
It’s where all the color lives.
Weather and Silence
Near Ivalo, trees stood heavily coated in snow, looking almost unreal — like a fairytale illustration frozen mid-page.
(Photo: the Chill and Thrill quilt at Saariselkä Ski Resort — in the middle of a winter wonderland)
Further north, closer to the Arctic Ocean, temperatures unexpectedly rose above freezing, clouds rolled in, and our chances of seeing the Aurora disappeared completely. The same warm ocean currents responsible for dramatic rainfall in Portugal were at work here, too — a quiet reminder of how deeply interconnected the world is, even at its edges.
And then there was the silence.
Not an empty silence, but a full one.
After a sauna session in Utsjoki, sitting outside in the cold, there was nothing to hear but breath and thoughts. Locals told us some visitors from big cities find it frightening. I found it calming. Even necessary.
(Photo: the Chill and Thrill quilt on the sauna porch — proof that quilts, too, enjoy a good spa moment.)
Life in the North
Life here feels honest.
People dress for reality, not appearance. Comfort is prepared, not hoped for. You bring hot tea. You clear snow. You heat the sauna. You build your house around a fireplace.
Wrapped in layers, everyone reminded me of my penguins — a little bulky, a little clumsy, but calm, confident, and content. Like them, people here understand that comfort isn’t accidental. It’s built, layer by layer.
Wool vs. Cotton
While preparing for the trip, I kept hearing one phrase:
“Cotton kills.”
In Arctic conditions, cotton absorbs moisture and drains warmth. Wool does the opposite.
As a quilter, I’ve always loved cotton for its simplicity. Wool felt complicated — harder to wash, slower to dry, vulnerable to moths. Frankly, a headache.
But the North made me curious.
One morning, at -18°C, I wrapped two identical cups of hot water — one in cotton batting, one in wool — and placed them outside in the snow. After 20 minutes, both had cooled. But the wool-wrapped cup was still 10°C warmer.
Not a perfect experiment.
But a very convincing one.
A Dream, Gently Fulfilled
Some dreams are dangerous. When you want them too much, reality can disappoint.
This one didn’t.
The North was everything I hoped for — quiet, demanding, beautiful, deeply grounding. My little penguin quilt didn’t keep me warm outdoors, but it shared the journey and made me look more closely, stay longer, photograph more.
I came home carrying a piece of the North with me — stitched into chill and slightly smug penguin smiles on the Chill and Thrill quilt.
Pattern coming soon.
May your deepest dreams fulfill,
Rugilė
