Sometimes when you least expect it, you find exactly what you were never looking for, but so desperately need.
I wouldn’t call myself well-traveled, but when it comes to Wisconsin—especially the Driftless area—I like to think I’ve explored a fair share. Along the way, I’ve often stumbled upon the overlooked and unexpected: vintage relics that evoke days gone by—rare and intriguing treasures nestled in quaint shops within the historic remnants of charming towns. These are the places where pieces of the past peek out from dimly lit corners, and where you can never quite be sure if the items are handmade, thrifted, new, or perhaps even upcycled. The places that are holding onto threads of the past, struggling to weave them harmoniously into today. The family-owned shops that possibly Grandma or even Great-Grandma started years ago, embarking on the All-American dream of entrepreneurship; those are my favorite.
There are countless small districts like this scattered around the state, each with its own charm. A few years ago, whether it was by fate or pure chance, my family was fortunate enough to find ourselves in one of these curious little towns, Stoughton, WI. Stoughton has a unique cultural heritage preserved and celebrated by the community, blending its historic traditions with thoughtful modern developments. The town embraces new businesses, events, and initiatives while maintaining its deep cultural roots, creating a harmonious balance between past and present. Not to mention the unique and wondrous locally owned businesses lining its historic downtown streets, each with its own story to tell.
I still hold onto a piece of that place—the memory of the first time I wandered down that cold, empty street Downtown. It was mid-December, and winter’s icy breath hung thick in the air. Most people were tucked away in their work-spaces, caught in the rhythm of a weekday afternoon. I had stepped outside to stretch my legs and clear my head, needing a break from the quiet, meticulous world inside Livsreise, the Norwegian Heritage Center where I worked.
Inside, the center was absolutely remarkable—a hidden gem that beautifully preserved and celebrated stories of Norwegian culture and ancestry. In stark contrast the exterior was modest and unassuming, leading one to be somewhat confused by what might be within. Because of this, visitors were sometimes few and far between. While this lent itself to moments of quiet research and study, it could make the days feel achingly long at times. I needed to escape the stillness, just for a few moments.
As I walked, I let my mind wander- it wasn’t long before I came upon a shop I had passed on many occasions, The Nordic Nook. I had always been curious about it, but I’d never gone in. I was always too busy and I knew I probably couldn’t justify making a purchase anyway. Today however felt different. Today wasn’t about obligations or excuses. Today was about me.
Blown in the door by the blustering wind, I was immediately enveloped by a warmth that felt both literal and emotional. Although I had never been in the shop before, the quiet hum of a Norwegian folk tune playing in the background and faint scent of pine and cinnamon evoked a sense of familiarity. It felt as though the shop itself welcomed me, wrapping me in a sense of comfort and belonging. I said a quick hello to the shopkeeper who I would soon find out was the daughter of the elderly Norwegian owner of the place, the Nordic Nook. It was a family business started by mother and daughter two decades ago, now I’ve been told it has been sold, however the shop continues to carry many of the same Nordic inspired fashions and gifts.
I wasn’t really sure what I had come in for. I knew I wanted some Norwegian mittens, but they didn’t have any of those. You must know someone who knits and one would be considered very lucky to be the recipient of such a unique and beautiful gift. I was, many years ago, when I was a child and didn’t know about how special those mittens could one day become. I still remember those beautiful wool mittens, my grandma knitted them just for me. They had a selburose or eight petaled rose patterned in white upon a beautiful blue. I don’t have them anymore, but I still carry the memory. That memory hit me hard as I looked through the array of Nordic displays, bringing back so much of my grandma, all of the pieces I never really understood, but never forgot either.
The first thing that caught my eye was a basket of beautifully rosemaled ornaments. I thought my friend and co-worker must’ve most certainly painted them; I knew this shop was one of the few places you could find her beautiful art. All the beautiful things in this shop, it was an overwhelming display crowded inside the tiny store. I found my gaze drawn to the sparkling gold and silver solje (norwegian jewelry), then just past it a display of Norwegian sweaters, I wanted one of these so much, but it just didn’t feel like the thing I had come in for.
After perusing much of the store, debating about a practical scarf, or perhaps a fun mug, cozy socks or maybe a Scandinavian inspired knick knack; my eyes were drawn to a pair of crimson mittens with a Norwegian inspired banding. The beautiful mittens had a warm fleece interior and even though they didn’t look a lot like the pair from my childhood, they still reminded me of them all the same. The blue in the design resonated so clearly with me, it must’ve been the same Norwegian blue grandma used to craft my mittens all those years ago. This was it! This was what I had come in for!
I was elated to have found them! This was the first time since I had become a mother that I really felt like I could afford to treat myself and feel like I wasn’t taking from my family. I was being selfish, but I hadn’t done it in so long, it didn’t feel selfish, it just felt like a special treat and I was the unique recipient. This was something I could hold onto, something new yet deeply nostalgic. They brought back vivid memories of my grandmother and my childhood—pieces of the past I thought I had lost forever. In my hands, I held a connection to both who I am now and who I used to be.
Even though I’ve moved on, I hold onto the memories of the town and what it brought me. Each winter when the air starts to freeze and the cold blows in; every time I slip on those mittens and feel the warmth they provide, it’s like they warm me from the inside too. The day I decided to call them mine was more than just a moment, it was an experience etched into my soul- the memories they evoke will live on in my mind for eternity.
I’m not certain if it’s the memories of my experiences there, the fact that they just so happen to have one of my favorite family owned second hand/retail shops, or the deep cultural connection I feel to the place, but for a brief moment in time it wasn’t just where I lived—it was where I belonged. Even now, Stoughton remains one of my favorite places to visit, though it has changed dramatically over the years. It is a welcoming community, and one that I was proud to be a part of.
By: Stephanie Campbell
