The Winter Where the Pipes Froze

One winter the pipes froze for three days. We melted snow in pots on the woodstove. We flushed toilets with buckets of water carried from the barn.

I remember thinking it was a grand adventure.

My parents did not.

Adults experience inconvenience; children experience myth.

I think about that distinction often — how children are built to find narrative, even in hardship. Maybe that’s why I became an artist. Maybe that’s why I return to storytelling like a survival skill.

That winter taught me something: discomfort does not erase wonder. Sometimes it sharpens it.