It snowed so much that winter we were able to build an igloo in our backyard. The year was 1970, and St. Louis seemed wrapped in silence beneath a deep, endless snowfall. For us kids, it was a wonderland. The corners of our neighborhood transformed into places of adventure—yards became fortresses, snowbanks turned into slides, and the world felt both bigger and smaller under the hush of all that white.
In our backyard, the dream of an igloo took hold. At first it was just a pile of snow, but with each passing day more kids arrived, bundled in layers, cheeks red with cold and eyes bright with purpose. Ours was a neighborhood filled with large families—four or five kids spilling from every house—and when word spread about the igloo, everyone wanted to be part of it. They came with shovels, buckets, even kitchen pans, anything that might help. More than tools, though, they brought their excitement, and together we set about shaping something remarkable.
We carved tunnels, stacked blocks, and hollowed out a room that, for a time, became our own hidden world. Inside it was quiet, dim, and magical, the kind of place where secrets could be whispered and laughter carried softly against the snow walls. The roof proved too great a challenge, and in the end, we settled for a cardboard box stretched across the top. It might not have been true to form, but it was ours, and we thought it perfect.
What still amazes me is how long it stood. The igloo remained well into spring, long after the other snowbanks had melted away. Each time we checked on it, we felt a small surge of pride, as if the structure itself held the memory of our effort and our joy.
In the end, maybe that’s why the igloo stays with me after all these years. Even though it was never fully finished, it stood as a kind of shelter—fragile, improvised, but strong enough to hold our laughter and our togetherness. Igloos are built for protection against the cold, but ours did something more. It offered the kind of protection childhood so often does: a place where the world feels safe, where neighbors feel like family, and where a cardboard roof is enough to keep the wonder inside.
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