Winters in rural Saskatchewan shaped my childhood. Snowbanks seemed like mini mountains, and the whited air of deep winter became a backdrop to memory. My brothers and I spent countless hours exploring those snow-crusted peaks, faces wrapped in scarves, our eyelashes turning into delicate white sculptures. Over time, the echoes of those winters have softened, fading along with what seems like the severity of winter itself. As winters become milder, the delicate beauty of those moments feels as though it's slipping away. My first monograph, “Minus 30” is my response to absorbing myself back in that world.