For 20 days after Christmas, two-thirds of the land of the free was moaning the frozen-pipe blues as temperatures stayed closer to zero than 32.

 

Many Americans have at least one good frozen-pipe story in our oral histories.

 

The best are about hot and cold lines buried in ceilings that broke during dinner parties so that the crystal chandelier over the first-floor dining room turned into liquid performance art, and no diner asked for extra gravy.

 

I often discourage visits from unwanted guests by noting that the waste-water lines serving our spare bedrooms are frozen. This strategy is less effective in the summer.  

 

Like many old farmhouses, ours was built before FDR declared indoor plumbing an inalienable right. Indoor came to Blue Grass in the late 1930s, and our pipes have been acting up ever since.

 

Chinese made pipes out of reeds 3,000 years ago, then bamboo. Others fashioned them from clay, lead and wood. Modern materials with the best freezing characteristics are copper and plastic, either of which can be installed directly against baseboards on uninsulated, North-facing walls for optimal vulnerability.

 

I have found prayer to be of little use against frozen pipes. Neither His rod nor His staff ever does as much good as a heat gun and hair dryer.

 

Frozen pipes always follow the Four Iron Laws of Country Life