Neck Deep

I sat with my family by the bonfire at my grandpa’s cabin–a few steps from the shoreline of Turtle Lake in northern Wisconsin–and listened to the throaty serenade of hundreds of bull frogs. Above us, the moon was shrouded in clouds and the damp July air settled lower and lower. Nobody was really talking. We all just stared into the fire and relaxed; well, that was until my brother decided it was time for one last game of tag. “Not …


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