Winters in rural Saskatchewan shaped my childhood memories. My brothers, Bruce and Raymie, and I played on towering snowbanks, our scarves freezing into icicles. One vivid memory is my mom rescuing Bruce when his tongue froze to the swing set. After losing my brothers and mother in accidents, I turned to photographing winter landscapes, drawn to the cold, silent spaces that mirrored my grief. Only in temperatures of minus 30 degrees or colder would I venture out on dangerous, solitary drives back to Saskatchewan. On these journeys, a lone tree stood out—resilient where most wouldn’t survive. The tree’s strength paralleled my own. As I returned to the place of my childhood, I saw how winter itself had changed. Minus 30 captures both personal loss and the fragile winter landscape that holds the memories of my past, preserving a world I may be among the last to witness.