Devil's Lake.

Yesterday, we slipped away to Devil's Lake to hike in the heat of the day. It was a sticky 92 degrees in Baraboo, and once when we plopped down on a boulder to rest, we were surprised by a long lean milksnake—no danger to us; milksnakes eat other snakes, not sun-struck daytrippers.










Wisconsin Explorers! My mom and I wrote these books!









Yesterday marked the first time I’ve worn a swimsuit in public (and by “in public,” I mean “outside of a changing room”) since I was 14. There were so many bodies unselfconsciously displayed there on that stretch of sand—fit and not, tanned and faintly unevenly pink, wrinkled and folded, muscled and bony. There was a space for every body there.

This morning, rain splattered down from a mostly sunny sky as I waited for the bus and everyone looked up, unable to help it—the businessman in his suit, the gangly teenage boys ditching school, the middle-aged woman with her pink tracksuit and impeccable hair—and me, too.

I am thinking in German again. I can barely articulate a sentence in English without its German translation springing thoughtlessly to mind.