I swam to peanut island today with Kevin as my kayak spotter.
Our first summers at the lake, Peanut Island (which we called Picnic Island) was a regular destination for our little family. It’s not very far away and it’s not very big, but when the kids were little it felt like a destination. We’d bring lunch and paddle over in the canoe and Hazel and Eliza would play for hours, the tiny little island transforming into an enchanted kingdom for their never-ending games of make-believe. I can still remember the first time we decided to swim back from the island: It seemed so far, such an accomplishment.
Now we know its real name and it doesn’t seem very far away, but it’s still a beloved destination. There are too many motor boats and Seados that blaze around our bay to safely swim there on my own, but now that Kevin has arrived I have a willing kayaker.
It is a gorgeous, sunny day with dramatic cloud structures and a pleasant, light breeze. I wasn’t sure I felt like swimming when I set off—feeling a bit lazy after yesterday’s race—but once I got going, it felt great.
The water felt warm and cold, then warm again; clean and refreshing.