So, I went on vacation last week. We went to my husband's family's cabin, where the bugs were in full Minnesota force. Ticks scuttled up my legs. I swatted a few mosquitos. Chigger bites bloomed around my ankles. Deer flies buzzed. A mysterious blistering rash burst out on my shoulder and danced down my arm. There was a lot of debate about how I could have gotten poison ivy there.
I have lived in Minnesota for about 25 years now, and my paranoia about poison ivy has made me a master of woodland plant identification. It has also kept me poison ivy free that whole time. So I was convinced I had contracted it from my son via his rash via the laundry. I was amazed at how painful it was. Then I got home, and got a proper diagnosis: shingles.
On a more positive note: the water was fine and I didn't get swimmer's itch.
On the dock at dusk
Imersion.
Dusk is my favorite time to swim. The boundary between sky and water loses it's edge, the blues of air and water merge. Skinny-dipping in the cool water, I stop itching and lose a bit of myself to the lake.
