raving sub-zero mornings and sweltering afternoons, I carved my sanctuary into the earth in just four relentless days. Day one: shovel met frozen ground—I broke ice, not soil. Day two: walls took shape as the sun blazed, sweat mixing with dirt. By day three, I’d reinforced the roof with salvaged timber and packed earth for insulation. On day four, I lined the interior with tarps and laid a rough wooden floor. Now, nestled below the surface, my dugout stays cool in summer and cozy in winter—a testament to grit, ingenuity, and the wild swing from frost to heat that fueled every swing of my pickaxe.
