This past week, the heat has burned away any memories of winter. Our little ones have begun running about the yard barefoot and the porch railing is heavy with swimsuits, floaties and towels (and whatever other piece of clothing has fallen victim to the wonders of the creek).
To kick off the summer, we headed across the border to play at Lake Titus for the day in the hopes of washing off a little of the summer heat and to spend a little quality time with family.
I love the lake. As a child, I’d swim for hours, pretending I was headed to the Olympics, or that I was a mermaid/dolphin diving for treasure—the latter being the more likely of the two. The lake has always served as a place of peace for me—diving into the dark water was mediation. On Saturday, my feelings remained unchanged. Standing in the water was therapy. Staring off into the distance, the water lapping gently at the shore, the call of a loon in the distance, with a glass of something or other in my hand. And then a little person yells, and I’m back to playing referee in a bathing suit that may or may not be considered maternity wear. And it’s still the absolute most perfect thing in the world.
