Unraveled Wednesday: 3/11/26

I’m happy to join Kat and the Unravelers today with a few more teeth added to the Dream Hitchhiker, and I’ve also cast on Justin’s Hat 2.0. The Hitchhiker looks much the same as it did last week, just four teeth longer, so I’ll spare you a photo this time. It’s true comfort knitting, and I almost always try to work a few rows before bed. At first I was eager to finish it so I could wear it while the weather was still chilly, but lately I’ve been taking my time and enjoying the process a bit more.

When I checked my stash for yarn for Justin’s Hat 2.0, I realized I had enough for the duplicate-stitch animals but not enough to actually knit the hat itself. So I ordered some Palette from KnitPicks. They shipped it the next day, and I waited rather impatiently by the front door for UPS. The delivery was late (of course), but my enthusiasm hadn’t faded, so I cast on right away. Unfortunately, I apparently couldn’t count to 144, despite checking three times, so I started over and managed it correctly the second time. Now I’m working through lots of ribbing and looking forward to reaching the stockinette section. I’m glad I started this hat in March; knitting a fingering-weight hat may take me a while, and the duplicate stitching will take even longer.

 

I read two books this week, both non-fiction and both great. Recommended by Pam, the graphic edition of On Tyranny by Timothy Snyder, illustrated by Nora Krug, transforms Snyder’s already concise political handbook into something even more immediate, visual, and emotionally resonant. Originally structured as twenty short lessons drawn from the failures of 20th-century democracies, the book distills complex historical warnings into brief, memorable calls to action about how ordinary people can resist authoritarianism.

What makes this edition stand out is Krug’s artwork. Her collage-style illustrations, mixing historical imagery, watercolor drawings, and visual symbolism, add a layer of urgency that the plain text version only hints at. The images don’t just decorate the ideas; they deepen them. Seeing fragments of propaganda, photographs, and unsettling visual juxtapositions alongside Snyder’s lessons drives home the unsettling reality that tyranny doesn’t arrive overnight, it grows gradually through complacency, fear, and the erosion of democratic norms.

The book is also remarkably accessible. At barely over a hundred pages, it reads quickly, but that brevity is part of its strength. Snyder’s central argument, that citizens must actively defend institutions, language, and truth, is delivered in short, direct chapters that feel less like academic analysis and more like civic advice. The graphic format reinforces that clarity, making the lessons easy to absorb and hard to forget.

If I had one small criticism, it’s that the format can occasionally make the ideas feel a bit simplified. The lessons are powerful, but readers looking for deeper historical context may want to follow this with some of Snyder’s more detailed works. For some, this book may be more of a starting point than a full exploration.

Still, as a visual introduction to democratic vigilance, On Tyranny is striking, thoughtful, and timely. It’s the kind of book that can be read in a single sitting but linger in your mind long afterward and provoke action.  

Recommended by Kym, The Sound of a Wild Snail Eating by Elisabeth Tova Bailey is one of those rare books that seems small and quiet on the surface, yet somehow expands your sense of the world. It’s a short memoir, but it left me with a surprising feeling of calm, wonder, and gratitude.

After a mysterious illness leaves Bailey largely bedridden and isolated, a friend brings her a pot of wild violets along with an unexpected guest: a tiny woodland snail. With little else she can physically do, Bailey begins observing the snail’s nightly routines, gradually becoming fascinated by its movements, habits, and quiet persistence. Over time, this tiny creature becomes a source of companionship and curiosity, giving structure and meaning to days that might otherwise feel empty.

What makes this book so special is Bailey’s attention to detail. She writes about the snail with the patience of a naturalist and the wonder of someone rediscovering the world at a slower pace. Through careful observation, watching the snail glide across leaves, listening to the faint rasping sound as it eats, learning about snail biology and behavior, she opens a door into an entire miniature universe that most of us never notice.

But this isn’t just a book about a snail. It’s about resilience, curiosity, and the strange ways we find comfort during difficult times. Bailey never turns the snail into a sentimental symbol; instead, she lets its simple persistence mirror her own struggle to endure and recover. The result is deeply moving without ever feeling heavy-handed.

I finished this book with the sense that my attention had been gently retrained. It reminds you that wonder doesn’t always come from grand adventures or dramatic stories; it can come from watching a tiny creature slowly explore the edge of a flowerpot. Quiet, thoughtful, and unexpectedly profound, The Sound of a Wild Snail Eating is a small masterpiece. 4.5 stars rounded up.  

What are you making and reading this warming Wednesday in March?