Breaststroke

We came together with my father’s family, the Pogwizd’s, at (put the name of land here when you remember). (Name of land again) was like our little home away from home with it smelled of pine trees. Behind that lurked smoke from a distant bonfire up behind the house with freshly caught salmon grilling over the nearby flames. Cherries, huckleberries, and blackcaps coated the roads and hiking paths near the lake and everything vibrated with the buzz of hummingbirds and bees. My father brought his…