I’ve known about the Moomins for a long time. I have two cute Moomin coffee mugs in my regular crockery rotation. I’ve bookmarked snippets of the stories thinking oh, isn’t that lovely. But I’ve never really got it.

There’s a simple answer as to why: I hadn’t actually read Tove Jansson’s Moomin stories, I’d just indulged in the whimsical branding and planned to read more at some point when I don’t have big books to catch up on and write about.

But that’s been changing lately. Alongside actual therapists (one EMDR, one CBT – it’s been a two-therapist problem) Moomins have stepped in as a surprising source of comfort, wisdom, and guidance when I need it most.

Tumbling into the world of Moominvalley is a perfect reminder of life’s simple joys: coffee in the morning, curling up under a cosy blanket, caring for a kitchen garden, and following the rhythms of the seasons.

But it isn’t all sunshine and rainbows. In fact, alongside the squishy tummies, cozy nooks, and maternal care from Moominmamma, Moomins have to contend with a lot of traumatic shit: devastating floods and comets that threaten to destroy the world (and that’s just in the first two books).

Take, for example, the mournful sight of “a wet, sad Moominpappa” stuck up a tree in The Moomins and the Great Flood, SOS flag in hand:

Adversity is all part of the magic of Tove Jansson’s Moominverse, it seems. It’s what makes the pancakes, coziness, and nourishing comforts afterward all the more special.

This reminds me of something else I’ve been thinking about a lot lately: the especially Scandinavian, or just northern, joy of coming in from the cold – of how much better the warmth and comfort feel for having been outdoors.

Hygge exists here in Denmark because the weather is so dang depressing in winter. Across the bridge in Sweden, a sauna feels best when you’ve just hopped out of freezing cold water. Similarly, a dram of whisky in Scotland tastes so much better when you’ve been traipsing about in heinous rain and wind.

Comfort, warmth, and stability mean the most after discomfort, cold, and uncertainty.

After rescuing the poor Moominpappa from his tree, the gang heads over to the shore next to a bonfire to eat soup “while they talked all at the same time about all the dreadful things they had been through”.

After a good sleep, out wandering in the sunshine amongst the flowers that had appeared after the rain, they come across a small valley “more beautiful than any they had seen that day”.

Here, Moominpappa spies the house that he’d been working away at, which wasn’t destroyed by the flood after all and must have floated here: “a house that almost looked like a tall stove, very elegant and painted blue.”

“And there in the valley they spent the whole of their lives, apart from a few times when they left it and travelled for a change,” writes Tove Jansson to tie a bow in their ordeal. Until the next book, that is, when Moominmamma eventually soothes,

“Yes, it’s over, my little Moomin-child (…) Now everything is all right, and you must go to sleep. You must all go to sleep, my dears. Don’t cry Sniff, there’s no danger now.” (Comet in Moominland)

And so, as the Moomins rest, we can rest too. We can remind ourselves that it’s okay. It’s safe. Now how about some home comforts: pancakes with jam, perhaps? Coffee on the veranda in the morning sun?

A final bit of Moomin joy for today: one of the most beloved Moomin moments in my digital archive, from book one of the collected comic strips.

When asked why he isn’t chasing fame and riches, Moomintroll exclaims, “I only want to live in peace, plant potatoes, and dream!” You and me both, Moomintroll.