My mother stood at the edge of the water near the cottage she rented every year in Wareham and performed what we kids called the “Italian dip.” She waded in up to her knees, crouched and splashed her chest and arms with the icy waters of the bay. Then, ablutions over, she went back to her blanket and soaked in the sun.

Before immigrating to America, my Italian mother had lived her life surrounded by the Apennines, the mountain range that forms the spine of Italy. In this country, she loved living at sea level. The first time I walk into the Mediterranean, the temperature of the water is a revelation. I am astonished that my body is able to flow into the sea without adjustment.