I have nothing against Norway or Norwegians, and I’d be in trouble at home if I did. My wife is of Norwegian descent and heard Norwegian spoken in the northern Michigan home where she grew up. I dare not say anything derogatory about Scandinavians unless it’s aimed specifically and only at the Swedes.

That said, Norway doesn’t leap to mind as the most exciting country in the world. Yes, there was that gun massacre on the Norwegian island of Utøya two years ago, and I guess that could be called exciting in a macabre sort of way. But many people commented on how rare such tragedies are in Norway. It’s a country where things usually happen pretty much as they’re supposed to. Norway’s politics is admirably civil (at least by U.S. standards).

Norwegian television reflects this peaceable, orderly reputation. It shies away from what we Americans see on our television screens — car chases, sex scenes, shoot-em-ups, football, giggling talk shows and disgusting reality shows, all interspersed with loud, brassy commercials.

Norway is different. On Nov. 1, the country’s NRK2 television channel offered what must surely be the last word in subdued programming — a 12½-hour feature on knitting. Called “Knitting Evening,” the show began at 8 p.m. with four hours of analysis and commentary on knitting. Then, at midnight, 8.5 hours of live knitting began.

“Knitting Evening” was watched by 1.3 million people, in a country with a population of just 5 million. Norwegians gathered in homes for parties to watch it. Viewers watched an average of four hours. Many stayed up through the wee hours to witness the finish — “like watching election returns,” someone said.

Maybe it’s because winter is arriving in Norway and folks there wanted to brush up on their cold-weather amusements.

There was a modicum of excitement in the show. These people weren’t knitting just for the usual adrenaline high knitting affords. They were out to break the world record for the shortest time between the moment wool is sheared from the sheep and the moment it becomes a sweater. The record of 4 hours and 51 minutes was held by an Australian knitting team.

The shearing took place just after midnight. Then the Norwegian spinners and knitters went to work at a frenzied, feverish pace. But, alas, it took them over eight hours to complete the sweater. The Australian record stands. But viewers are already asking for more shows on knitting.

Nor is this the first time NRK2 has produced programming that Americans might find a bit tame. In 2009, NRK2 offered the live broadcast of a 7½-hour train trip from Bergen to Oslo. The camera was fastened to the roof of one of the cars. The most exciting incident on the broadcast is said to have been the sight of a salmon jumping out of the water as the train passed along a riverbank. That program drew 1.2 million viewers.

Then in 2011, NRK2 followed a cruise ship for 134 continuous hours as it moved up the Norwegian coast. Over 3 million viewers tuned in to at least part of that.

Then came the channel’s 18-hour live coverage of people fly fishing. The first fish was caught three hours into the show.

And finally, a 12-hour feature of billets burning in a fireplace, including discussion about whether to place the wood in the grate with the bark down or up. I wish I’d seen that one.

It was the popularity of the firewood show that led to the knitting show. “Men have gotten their firewood night. Now women must have their knitting night,” viewers said. Or at least that’s what Rune Moklebust, programming executive at NRK2, said viewers said.

Moklebust also said that although all these shows pertained to activities popular in Norway, he thinks this type of programming will have wide appeal elsewhere.

And it’s cheap to produce. Production costs for “Knitting Evening” ran to a mere $150,000 to $200,000, Moklebust said.

This concept could revolutionize American television. I can see days of programming on grass growing, paint drying, glaciers melting, clocks ticking, and dust accumulating on bare floors. I’ve had it with thrills and excitement. Give me dull.

Richard H. Schmidt is a retired Episcopal priest, editor and author who lives in Fairhope. He can be reached at courier@gulfcoastnewspapers.com.