Why I Started a Climate Change Knitting Project

For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to learn to knit. But it wasn’t until a few years ago that I had the chance. One day, I saw a social media post about someone knitting a temperature blanket, where each row reflected the temperature of each day. I thought it was an incredible idea and found myself thinking about it often. When the opportunity finally arose to learn, I jumped at the chance. A friend shared lunch with me and, as she taught me how to knit, I answered all her questions about climate change. It felt like a perfect exchange, and just two weeks later, I started knitting for the year 2023—right as I was learning the craft.

As I progressed, I found myself thinking beyond the daily updates and wondering what the blankets might look like over time. That’s when I came across a collection of climate datasets going all the way back to 1914. I was inspired—why not knit the data for 110 years? What started as a simple knitting project quickly turned into a meaningful way to document the effects of climate change over the course of a century.

At first, I found myself in what I like to call “rage knitting.” It was a cathartic release, especially when reflecting on the climate change denial I encountered from others. Each stitch represented both my frustration and my drive to take action. The process itself gave me a way to channel those emotions, and I felt as though the act of knitting could somehow push back against the sense of helplessness I often felt when thinking about climate change. But as I continued, I began to notice something else: the joy of discovery. The more I knitted, the more I found myself intrigued by patterns in the data—warmer summers, warmer winters—and even anomalies, such as the polar vortex of 2023. Being able to pinpoint those moments in the blanket felt exciting and helped me connect my personal experiences to the broader patterns in our climate.

Knitting became an interesting way to cope with the emotional weight of climate change. It’s a simple and repetitive activity that I can do almost anywhere. I knit a lot during online meetings, which, ironically, helps me focus on what’s being discussed. Sometimes I get a little too absorbed in the conversation, though, and end up knitting a row too long, requiring me to undo part of the work. Still, that’s part of the beauty of it—there’s a certain rhythm to the work that calms me, but also keeps my mind engaged in the larger task.

The data I’m knitting into these blankets has revealed some fascinating trends. There are even years where the temperature on the same date remained unchanged, which I find pretty neat. But the most striking observation has been the increase in warmer winters. These shifts are particularly evident in the more recent years, which also correspond to significant weather events like the polar vortex. What excites me most is that these blankets have become tangible, visible representations of climate change. They allow me to link my personal experiences to the data and help others understand the impact of climate change in a way that’s both accessible and engaging.

Art, I believe, has an important role to play in how we communicate the science of climate change. While facts and figures are crucial, art can connect with people in a deeper, more emotional way. The best case scenario is that these blankets will become conversation starters—tools for engagement rather than tools for guilt. Through this project, I want to show people that creative outlets, like knitting, can be a meaningful way to engage with climate change and can spark important discussions about the issue.

One of the challenges I’ve faced with this project is the sheer time commitment. Life often comes with unexpected twists and turns, and as a result, I’ve found it harder to carve out time for this project. Initially, I set a goal to complete one decade per year, but 2024 didn’t go according to plan. Still, I remind myself that this is a long-term project, and it will be completed when it’s completed—whether it takes 10 years or 20.

Since starting this project, my understanding of climate change has stayed relatively the same, but the way I engage with it has changed. I now have a tangible way to talk about it, and I’m excited to see how the project evolves as it gains more visibility. In fact, one of my biggest goals for the future is to have the blankets displayed in a museum or art gallery, where people can see them up close and interact with the project. I’d love to bring the blankets along to speaking engagements, especially when I’m talking to younger audiences who are already feeling the impacts of climate change. These conversations, I think, are essential for encouraging young people to find their own creative outlets and push for change in their communities.

If there’s one piece of advice I’d give to someone inspired by this project, it’s this: Do it. It’s an incredible process, and while it’s a lot of work, there’s a certain pride in knowing that your effort is contributing to something meaningful. Regardless of your form of creative expression, it’s powerful to say that you are accomplishing something through your own hands, in response to the challenges we face.