And each time I've returned to Dublin Lake - sometimes angry, sometimes broken, always overpacked, always carrying more than I thought I could bear - something about this place has slowly, patiently, restored what felt irretrievably lost. Not dramatically, not all at once. More like... well, more like Naaman's seven trips into the muddy Jordan.

July. Day whatever of summer vacation. Vacation had just begun, but the boredom of an idle mind was everywhere present. The cereal bowls lay crusted in the sink, cartoon reruns droned from the living room, and my older brother Sam and I wandered the house like caged animals looking for something—anything—to do.