Attempting To Crochet The Baum Und Pferdgarten Cardigan As A Somewhat Beginner (Mistakes Were Made)

Let me paint you a picture. It’s a Tuesday evening, you’re scrolling through Instagram, and you stumble across a photo of the most beautiful cardigan you’ve ever seen in your life. It’s the Baum und Pferdgarten cardigan — you know the one. Oversized, textured, with that effortlessly cool Scandinavian aesthetic that makes it look like it belongs on a runway in Copenhagen and also somehow on a lazy Sunday morning with a cup of coffee. You think to yourself, “I could make that.” You have a crochet hook. You have some yarn. You’ve made a dishcloth and half a hat. How hard could it possibly be?

Reader, it was hard. It was very, very hard. But also wonderful, and frustrating, and ultimately one of the most satisfying craft projects I’ve ever attempted — even if the finished result looks less “Copenhagen runway” and more “cozy chaos.” This is the full story of my attempt to crochet a Baum und Pferdgarten-inspired cardigan as a somewhat beginner, complete with all the mistakes, the lessons, and the moments where I genuinely considered throwing my yarn into the sun.

What Even Is The Baum Und Pferdgarten Cardigan?

For the uninitiated, Baum und Pferdgarten is a Danish fashion label that has been producing beautifully crafted, artistically driven clothing since 1999. Their cardigans — particularly the chunky, oversized, heavily textured ones — have become something of a cultural moment in the knitwear and crochet community. People lose their minds over them, and for good reason. They tend to feature interesting stitch textures, bold proportions, and that particular kind of relaxed elegance that feels very much of our current moment in fashion.

The cardigan I was fixating on specifically had a dense, tactile texture, long sleeves, an oversized silhouette, and deep pockets. The retail price, as you might expect from a Scandinavian designer brand, was somewhere in the stratosphere — well out of reach for a casual purchase. So when I started seeing “Baum und Pferdgarten cardigan crochet dupe” floating around Pinterest and YouTube, I felt the familiar pull of the DIY rabbit hole opening up beneath my feet.

I stepped in willingly.

My Crochet Experience Level: A Honest Assessment

Before I get into the project itself, let me be clear about where I was skill-wise when I started this. I had crocheted a couple of dishcloths, one very lopsided granny square blanket that I abandoned after about twelve squares, and a beanie hat that technically fit a human head but looked like it was being worn under protest. I knew my basic stitches — chain, single crochet, double crochet, slip stitch. I had heard of the half double crochet and used it once without fully understanding what I was doing. I did not know what a moss stitch was. I had never worked a seam in my life. I had definitely never attempted garment construction of any kind.

So: somewhat beginner is being generous to myself. “Ambitious beginner with delusions of adequacy” might be more accurate.

I want to be upfront about this because I think a lot of crochet content online presents a slightly sanitized version of the learning curve, and I’d rather be honest. If you’re at a similar level and you’re considering this project, I want you to go in with realistic expectations rather than mine, which were apparently those of someone who had completely lost their grip on reality.

Finding A Pattern (Or Lack Thereof)

Here’s the first major complication: there is no official Baum und Pferdgarten crochet pattern. The brand makes the garment. They do not provide instructions for making it yourself. Everything out there is a dupe, an interpretation, a “inspired by” version that someone else figured out by looking very carefully at photos and reverse-engineering the construction.

I spent about two weeks just in the research phase, watching YouTube videos, reading blog posts, and saving approximately four hundred Pinterest images. I found a few patterns that claimed to be Baum und Pferdgarten-inspired, and I eventually landed on a free pattern from a knit-and-crochet blog that seemed to capture the vibe reasonably well. It used a moss stitch (also called the linen stitch or the granite stitch depending on who you’re talking to) to get that dense, woven texture that’s so characteristic of the original.

The pattern was written for intermediate crocheters. I looked at the word “intermediate” and made the extremely rational decision to proceed anyway.

The Yarn Situation

The original cardigan has a very specific weight and drape to it — it’s substantial but not stiff, textured but not scratchy. Matching that as a beginner on a budget is its own challenge.

I went to my local craft store and spent forty-five minutes standing in the yarn aisle holding different skeins up against my arm and squinting. I eventually chose a chunky-weight merino blend in a warm oatmeal color, because oatmeal is the correct color for this cardigan and I will not be taking questions on that. I bought what I thought was enough yarn based on the pattern’s yardage recommendations, which was the first of many mistakes.

I ran out of yarn twice. Twice. I had to order more online both times, and the second time the dye lot was very slightly off, which meant that if you look carefully at my finished cardigan there’s a subtle color shift about two-thirds of the way down the back panel. I have made peace with this. It adds character. I am lying to myself, but it is a comfortable lie.

Starting The Project: Gauge Swatches And Why I Ignored Them

Every pattern tells you to make a gauge swatch. A gauge swatch is a small test piece you crochet to check that your stitches match the pattern’s measurements — basically confirming that your tension and hook size will produce fabric that matches the intended dimensions. Every experienced crocheter will tell you that skipping the gauge swatch is a mistake. I skipped the gauge swatch.

My reasoning, such as it was: I just want to get started. Swatches are boring. I can adjust as I go.

This is the crochet equivalent of skipping the foundation when building a house and saying you’ll “sort it out later.” My first attempt at the back panel came out about four inches too narrow and noticeably stiffer than it should have been. I had been crocheting too tightly, which is an extremely common beginner problem — we tend to grip the yarn anxiously, like we’re afraid it’s going to escape. After frogging (unraveling) the entire panel, making a proper gauge swatch, adjusting my hook size up by 1mm, and consciously trying to relax my tension, my second attempt was much closer to correct.

Lesson learned, though I confess I had to relearn it approximately three more times during this project.

Learning The Moss Stitch: My New Nemesis And Best Friend

The moss stitch is central to the Baum und Pferdgarten look. It creates a tight, almost woven-looking fabric that has fantastic drape and a beautiful texture. It also takes a frustratingly long time to work up, especially in a chunky-weight yarn that eats through your yardage at an alarming rate.

The basic principle of the moss stitch alternates single crochets and chain stitches, working into the chain spaces from the previous row rather than into the tops of the stitches. It sounds simple. It is simple, in principle. In practice, as a beginner, I spent the first several rows working into the wrong spaces, miscounting my chain stitches, and producing something that looked less like elegant texture and more like a loose web someone’s cat had gotten into.

The turning point came when I stopped trying to go fast and just… slowed down. Counted every stitch. Marked my chain spaces with a locking stitch marker. After about an hour of slow, deliberate practice rows, something clicked. The stitch started to look right. The fabric started to feel right. I did a genuinely embarrassing little dance in my craft chair that I am choosing to include here for authenticity.

The Actual Construction: Where Things Got Really Interesting

The pattern I was using called for the cardigan to be worked in panels — a back panel, two front panels, and two sleeves — which would then be seamed together. This is called a “seamed construction” as opposed to working in the round, and it is, in theory, the more beginner-friendly approach because you’re just working flat rectangles.

The problem is the seaming.

I had never seamed anything in my life. I watched three separate YouTube tutorials on the whip stitch, the slip stitch seam, and the mattress stitch. I chose the slip stitch seam because it seemed most intuitive to me and produced a tidy, flat join. The execution, however, was messier than I’d hoped. My first shoulder seam was visibly uneven, slightly puckered, and had a small gap at one end where I’d miscounted and run short.

I redid that seam four times. Four. The fourth time it was acceptable. Not perfect, but acceptable, and by that point I had developed a philosophical relationship with imperfection that I think has made me a better person.

The sleeve attachment was its own adventure. Attaching sleeves to a flat armhole is a technique that requires you to pick up stitches along a vertical edge, which behaves differently than working along a horizontal edge. No one warned me about this. The ratio of stitches you pick up per inch is different, and if you get it wrong, your sleeve either gathers weirdly or pulls the armhole out of shape. My first sleeve gathered weirdly. My second sleeve pulled the armhole. My third attempt — yes, third — was much better, and I’m proud of it in the way you’re proud of something that almost defeated you entirely.

The Pocket Situation

I was absolutely not going to skip the pockets. Pockets are non-negotiable.

I added patch pockets, which is the simplest pocket construction — you just crochet a square or rectangle and sew it onto the front panels. This went remarkably smoothly compared to everything else, which I suspect was the universe’s way of rewarding me for persevering through the sleeve nightmare. The pockets are perfectly aligned, securely attached, and deep enough to be genuinely functional. This is my proudest achievement.

Finishing Details: The Button Band And Edging

The original Baum und Pferdgarten cardigan typically has a clean, minimal edge finish and either buttons or a relaxed open front. My pattern called for a simple single crochet button band along both front edges, worked by picking up stitches along the entire length of both front panels, then joining them at the top with a row of evenly-spaced buttonholes on one side.

Evenly-spaced is doing a lot of work in that sentence. My first attempt at the button band had buttonholes that were, shall we say, free-spirited in their spacing. The second attempt was much better. I used a trick I found in a comment thread somewhere — divide the band into equal sections with stitch markers before you begin, and place one buttonhole in each section. Obvious in retrospect. Revolutionary in the moment.

I chose simple wooden toggle buttons in a warm brown that complemented the oatmeal yarn beautifully. This was one of the better decisions I made during the entire project, and I credit it with saving the overall aesthetic.

The Finished Object: An Honest Review

So, does my cardigan look like the Baum und Pferdgarten original? No. Not really. It looks like a handmade interpretation made by someone who was figuring it out as they went, because that is exactly what it is.

But here’s the thing: it’s also genuinely beautiful. The moss stitch fabric has a warmth and texture that feels intentional and luxurious. The oatmeal color is exactly right. The oversized silhouette actually works — it falls off the shoulder slightly in a way that would look intentional to anyone who didn’t know about the gauge miscalculation that caused it. The pockets are perfect. The toggles are charming. When I wear it with jeans and a white t-shirt, I feel approximately sixty-five percent as cool as the original cardigan would make me feel, which is considerably more cool than I usually manage.

More than the garment itself, though, I’m proud of what I learned. I learned to gauge swatch (eventually, the hard way). I learned the moss stitch. I learned seaming, picking up stitches, sleeve attachment, and button bands. I learned that frogging is not failure — it’s just part of the process, and every time you rip back your work and start again, you’re starting with more knowledge than you had before.

Tips If You Want To Attempt This Yourself

If you’re a beginner or near-beginner considering a similar project, here are the things I wish someone had told me before I started.

Always swatch. I know. I know you don’t want to. Do it anyway. Your future self will be so grateful.

Choose your yarn carefully. You want something with good drape and a bit of softness. A merino or merino blend in a chunky weight works beautifully. Avoid anything too stiff or squeaky, and buy more than you think you need. Buy more than that.

Learn the moss stitch before you start the actual project. Spend an evening just practicing it on a test piece until it feels comfortable and your tension is consistent. This will save you hours of frustration.

Don’t rush the seaming. Watch tutorials, take your time, and use stitch markers to keep everything aligned before you commit. A bad seam can undermine a beautiful fabric.

Take breaks. This is a big project and it takes time. Some days your tension will be off because you’re tired or stressed or just not feeling it, and that will show in your work. It’s better to put it down and come back fresh.

Finally: lower your expectations slightly and raise your standards for enjoying the process. A handmade garment made with your own two hands, full of learning and small imperfections and the particular joy of figuring something out — that is worth more than a perfect replica. Let your cardigan be what it is, not what you imagined before you started.

The Baum und Pferdgarten cardigan project took me approximately eleven weeks from first stitch to final button. It involved more frogging than I’d like to admit, at least one genuine crisis of confidence, a minor yarn-related argument with my partner who pointed out that the craft room was “starting to look like a yarn explosion,” and one evening where I sat on the floor of said yarn explosion surrounded by crochet tutorials and genuinely wondered what I had gotten myself into.

It was absolutely worth it. Start your swatch.