Our Sunday outing to the soldier’s cottage became the kind of weekend that holds everything at once: winter cold, grilled sausages, family, longing, laughter, and that quiet feeling of time standing still. Here I write about Saturday’s lake swim, my knitting, the old cottage, and the gentle gratitude that stayed with me when the weekend came to an end.
Läs det här på Svenska ->Söndagsutflykt till soldattorpet – en helg med värme
Saturday – Winter Swim and Morning Warmth
On Saturday morning, I went down to the lake for a cold swim.
The air was a freezing –7.5°C, but the water was surprisingly warmer at 8.1°C.
The swim was both icy and wonderful. The lake was mirror calm, and steam danced over the surface. It stung my fingers and toes when I pulled off my swim shoes and walked back home.
At home, my husband and I ate breakfast while the house was still asleep.
He had some of the rice porridge I cooked the day before. I made it in the crockpot and let it cool overnight. It needs stirring now and then, but the taste becomes so soft and deep — worth every half-hour of stirring.
The kids and my husband love rice porridge, especially now that the cold is here.
I’m not much for porridge, so I had toasted bread with liver pâté and lots of fresh cucumber. Pure luxury for me.
After breakfast we got ready and drove to town. We stopped by NetOnNet to look at birthday gifts. Our little boy wants a computer screen, and for our little girl we have a more technical idea — but I can’t write it here because she sometimes reads the blog.
Black Week had already started, but we didn’t see any real bargains, so we decided to wait.
We also bought what we needed for Sunday’s picnic at the soldier’s cottage. Alfred and his mum with her partner were joining us. It felt nice to plan for a day together.
At the same time, there’s a small quiet place in me that stirs on days like this.
I have two more grandchildren, but they’re not part of these moments right now.
The joy gets a small edge — not disappearing, just slightly cracked where longing sits softly.
It’s not an accusation.
It’s simply a truth in my heart:
that life can hold both warmth and sorrow at the same time.
Saturday Afternoon – Writing, Memory, and Wool Socks
In the afternoon I worked on my texts.
Long texts. Important texts.
The kind that make me see both who I’ve been and who I’ve become.
While writing, I thought about Friday.
That was the day Alfred and I went to the soldier’s cottage — just the two of us.
Inside the little house he suddenly said he wanted socks that I had knitted for him.
There is something so tender in that — that my grandchildren still want things made by my hands.
So I asked AI for a sock pattern adapted to my yarn and needles. Not because I need a pattern, but to get the right stitch count. This is what I got:
Wool Socks – Size 38 (US 7.5), Needles 6 mm / US 10
Bulky yarn, perfect for cold floors.
Cast on: 28 stitches
Leg: K1, P1 rib for 10–12 cm
Knit: 5 rounds
Heel: worked on 14 stitches, 16 rows
Turn heel: until 8 stitches remain
Pick up: 8 stitches on each side → 38 stitches total
Gusset decreases: down to 28 stitches
Foot: approx. 20 cm
Toe: decrease to 8 stitches → pull yarn through.
Sunday Outing to the Soldier’s Cottage – Where Time Stands Still
On Sunday we packed sausages, bread, pickles and dried onions into a bag.
I made hot chocolate in a thermos. Then we drove to the soldier’s cottage — me, my husband and our little boy.
Our Sunday outing to the soldier’s cottage became one of those days that settles softly in the body.
We stopped by my daughter, and Alfred chose to ride with us.
When we arrived, the world was completely quiet.
Thin snow on the ground, winter light, and the cottage standing there just as it always does — weathered, simple, full of history.
Alfred wanted to show the little boy around.
What I had told him on Friday, he now passed on word for word.
He said:
“There were probably seven people living in this tiny house back then.”
And there could very well have been. Families lived tightly together.
The soldier worked the land, cared for the cottage, and had to be ready to leave for war at any time.
The boys walked on to the old shed where animals were kept.
It’s beautiful to see children take in history as if it’s still alive.
Outside we grilled sausages and chicken.
The hot chocolate tasted even better in the cold.
After a while we tried walking up to the viewpoint, about 500 meters away, but it was too steep for my hip.
So we turned back — and that was just as good. The light at the cottage was beautiful.
We said goodbye to the cottage and to my daughter’s family.
Back home we unpacked, and I put some pine branches I had brought with me into a vase on the kitchen table.
The smell made the whole kitchen soft.
The weekend is almost over, and I sum it up as a lovely weekend.
A gentle weekend.
A weekend close to my family — and a weekend filled with gratitude, even though a little sorrow visited me for a moment.
That’s something I can’t change.
Of course I would have wanted everyone to join.
But right now, life looks the way it does.
And I stay within the circles that still surround me.
Soldiers and Soldier’s Cottages in Sweden – A Brief History
Soldier’s cottages, known as soldattorp in Swedish, were part of Sweden’s military system called the indelningsverket, used from the 1600s until the early 1900s.
A soldier was given a small cottage and a piece of land to farm. In return, he had to be ready to leave for military service whenever called.
Life in a soldier’s cottage was simple and often crowded.
Families lived in one or two small rooms, sharing the space for cooking, eating, sleeping, and storing food. Most cottages also had a small shed or barn, a well, and a piece of land for growing crops or keeping a few animals.
The cottage offered stability:
a home, land to work, and support from local farmers.
But it also meant uncertainty, as soldiers could be sent away at short notice.
Today, many soldier’s cottages remain as cultural heritage sites — quiet reminders of everyday life in another time.
Learn More About Soldier’s Cottages in Sweden
Questions for You as a Reader
- Do you have a place where time seems to stand still?
- What does a weekend with family mean to you — even when the family isn’t complete?
- What feeling does nature bring you this time of year?
Your Voice – Between the Lines
There is a quiet strength in this weekend.
A movement between the circle that remains close — and the one that is missing.
Your words say:
life doesn’t need to be whole to be good.
It can hold gratitude and sorrow at the same time.
Cold air and hot chocolate.
Those who come — and those who don’t.
Your voice between the lines is steady:
You stand in your own life now.
You choose what exists, not what is absent.
That is where your strength lives.
Reflection
As the weekend settles, I feel a soft gratitude.
For the swim.
For the cottage.
For the children’s voices in the cold.
For the pine branches in the vase.
For the circles that still carry me.
When I think back on our Sunday outing to the soldier’s cottage, what stays with me most is gratitude.
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Live today, right now. Yesterday rests in history, and tomorrow waits somewhere ahead. But this moment — this is where life happens.
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