Fragments of Josefines’s life, told through a private friendship. My Muse is viewed through Bolette Nord, founder of Bolet.
I visited Josefine and Lola at their allotment garden in Kastrup. A place Josefine uses to switch off. To paint the woodwork pink. To get her hands in the soil. And to cycle far enough from her apartment in Frederiksberg for her pulse to rise.
Because Josefine needs her pulse to rise, she always has. Even though she dreams of the opposite. Her bicycle saddle is proof of that. The bike is only a year and a half old, and the saddle is already worn down. I love how tangible that is.
Lola comes running to open the garden gate. Josefine is glowing because Lola is finally with her again. Being Lola’s mother is the title she values most.
Josefine is more than a mother. She inspires because she dares to be honest about the personal growth she is going through, without pretending to have all the answers. She seeks out relationships that challenge her and offer new perspectives on what a life can look like.
There is something special about the way she meets people. A genuine curiosity. A presence that makes even strangers feel seen and willing to open up. Because she truly takes an interest. Because she cares. “I care about you” is one of the phrases I associate with her the most. And perhaps that is the essence of Josefine: a person who makes others feel significant.
Josefine loves food. Right down to the ingredients, the craftsmanship, and the experience itself. She is drawn to people who truly know their way around a kitchen. Not necessarily fancy techniques or white tablecloths, just people who care enough to make an effort.
She is not exactly a master in the kitchen herself (truth be told, darling), but she deeply appreciates those who are. She is the kind of person who loudly compliments the chef when something tastes outrageously good, because far too many people take it for granted when others spend hours creating something.
More people should do that.
If something is good, say it out loud.
The world already has enough people who criticize. Far fewer actually give recognition when it is deserved.
And these eggs are, of course, from her friend Kristella’s hens. Quality can be seen and tasted.
