It was the winter of 2010 and the drought had just broken. All around the country, long-parched fields now slushed with rain, creek beds and dams that had been cracked trenches and dustbowls for years were now so inundated with water they were coughing it back up over their banks. I remember those few weeks in my grandma’s kitchen as some of the coldest of my life, which, given that a few years earlier I had lived through a Polish January, just goes to show how heat and cold are infinitely relative.