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“Dai”, my young daughter uttered with a three-year-old’s joy of finding a new sound. I thought of my visit to Russia as she repeated the word in the National Forest parking lot. We had just finished using the bathroom outside because of the squalor of the outhouse. “Dai, Dai, Dai,” she repeated with increasing glee, as my mind raced for context and meaning. That’s when I saw the sign next to the cloud of flies and piles of human waste.

Dinner in 5 — she texted to the family chat. The plate felt warm as she placed the steak next to the beans and potato — nothing was touching. The oven door squeaked as she felt her back tighten. She felt her wrist as the chicken tenders and fries slid off the pan onto a plate. Her cheeks felt tight as she double-checked the tacos for cheese.