Ah, the winter wind’s perfect companion for dough. Last December, I tried my hand at a whole‑grain rye loaf, thinking the chill would give it a slow, gentle rise. I left the dough in my kitchen, then closed the windows to trap a bit of the cold outside, hoping the temperature drop would coax out those hidden yeasty whispers. The next morning, the dough had expanded like a shy snowball—soft, a little heavy, but it smelled of fresh bread, not frostbite. I was proud, but when I sliced it, the crumb felt a touch crumby, as if it had been too stubborn to rise fully. Still, the warmth from my oven chased away the winter chill, and the loaf tasted like a story written in grain and hope. So yes, a dash of winter air can do wonders, just keep an eye on that stubborn yeast, and remember the dough deserves a little patience.