Mosquitoes carrying West Nile virus have been detected in Anoka and Carver counties, but officials say people shouldn’t be alarmed.

“We have detected West Nile virus … but not to the point where we’re concerned about human transmission,” said Monte Ebbesen, Metropolitan Mosquito Control District public affairs assistant. “This is kind of the normal time of the year where it’s at its peak. We’ll expect some cases, but right now, we’re not concerned.”

She said their agency is working to ensure that the community stays safe.

“It’s all a part of our Integrated Pest Management Program. We treat water-holding areas at the larval stage, and if needed, we’ll do adult treatments — what people call ‘spraying,’” Ebbesen said.

But officials urge that it’s not just up to them; individual action is needed too.

“It’s also on people to take personal responsibility — wear bug spray, dress appropriately, avoid perfume and wear light colors,” she said. “There are ways to avoid getting bitten and lower the risk of transmission.”

Most people infected with the virus show no symptoms, according to the Mayo Clinic Health System. When symptoms do appear, individuals may experience fever, headache, body aches, swollen lymph nodes, diarrhea, rash and vomiting.

People with cancer, diabetes, high blood pressure or kidney disease face a higher risk of severe illness associated with the virus. More severe symptoms of the virus include neck stiffness, muscle weakness and paralysis.

Mosquitoes with West Nile are known to linger around swamps and ponds and are most active between dusk and dawn.

In 2022, 22 West Nile cases were reported in Minnesota. The virus first was detected in the state in 2002 and has since become a recurring seasonal concern.

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Many Americans who love Israel are facing a dilemma: Should they visit now, or hold off until times are safer?

Since the Oct. 7, 2023, attack by Hamas, Israel has been locked in an ongoing conflict with neighboring countries and territories, most prominently in Gaza, where about 50 Israeli hostages remain and more than 50,000 Palestinians are estimated to have been killed, and in Iran, where Israel and the United States launched missile attacks on nuclear sites last month. Israeli air space was subsequently closed to travel until June 24.

Tourism to Israel has suffered, and the continuing hostilities have made many frequent visitors reluctant to make the trip. But despite travelers’ hesitancy, some South Floridians with deep connections to the country say now is an important time to go.

“My first piece of advice is: Go, don’t be afraid,” said Delray Beach resident Katie Colburn, who has visited the country about 20 times, most recently in April. “They need us to come right now.”

Rabbi Josh Broide of Boca Raton Synagogue, who is moving to Israel this summer, said travelers are often in awe of Israelis’ resilience.

“Life goes on and visitors are warmly welcomed,” Broide said. “The best way to support the country is to be there — to see it, to stand with it and to experience its strength firsthand.”

There are many experts and travel veterans to consult if you are considering a trip, including your family, tour leaders, Israelis you know and the U.S. Department of State. If you are ready to commit, here are some tips from South Florida travelers and the State Department to help with a smooth visit.

KNOW BEFORE YOU GO

Check advisories. The U.S. Department of State provides updates on conditions on the ground. As of July 1, the current advisory says Americans should “reconsider” travel to Israel and the West Bank. The statement warns Americans to stay at least 7 miles from Gaza, 2.5 miles from the Syrian and Lebanese borders, and 1.5 miles from the Egyptian border, except for the Taba crossing between Egypt and Israel, which is open. Go to travel.state.gov.

Don’t forget your ETA-IL. For the past year, American visitors have had to get an Electronic Travel Authorization to enter the country. You’ll have to answer a few questions online about your passport and the purpose of your visit. The ETA lets visitors stay in Israel for 90 days and costs about $7. Go to www.gov.il/en/departments/topics/eta-il.

Enroll in STEP. The free Smart Traveler Enrollment Program, sponsored by the U.S. State Department, allows the U.S. Embassy to keep in touch and send weather and security alerts. You can also share your itinerary so its staff can find you in an emergency. Go to mytravel.state.gov/s/step.

Download the Israel Home Front Command app. This app will send alerts targeted to your location during emergencies. It also allows users to contact the Home Front Command, the Israel Defense Forces’ civil defense unit.

Wherever you’re staying, ask where the closest secured spaces are and find them before going to bed. Traveler Katie Colburn said she heard sirens while she and her husband, David, were sleeping at their hotel in Jerusalem, but they stayed in their room. They weren’t sure what the protocol was. The Israeli government advises tourists and citizens to head for a shelter or safe room when they hear these alarms, which warn of immediate danger.

Know where the closest shelters are if you are out and about. Rabbi Leon Weissberg said there are signs in public places throughout the country directing people to shelters. “You’ll see security everywhere, you’ll see arrows to shelters everywhere,” said the Cooper City resident, who visited in April. “The signs are so prominent now, and they’re in English, Hebrew and Arabic.” The sirens give a 1.5-minute warning of a missile or rocket attack in the central part of the country; times in other areas vary from 3 minutes to “15 seconds or less.”

Stay away from large public assemblies. The U.S. Embassy recommends American visitors steer clear of protests and areas with a large police presence. “Avoid demonstrations and crowds,” the embassy said in a July 1 alert.

Find a professional guide or go with a group if you want to see kibbutzes in the south that were affected by the Oct. 7 raids. “Go with a good guide who can give context and meaning,” Rabbi Broide said. Check in advance to see whether the kibbutz you wish to visit is open; some remain evacuated and closed to tourists.

“Write what you know” only gets you so far. An awful lot of debut films, even from writer-directors with talent, start from a personal place only to end up at a weirdly impersonal “universal” one you don’t fully believe, or trust.

“Sorry, Baby” is so, so much better than that. Eva Victor’s first feature as writer-director, and star, feels like a lived experience, examined, cross-examined, ruminated over, carefully shaped and considered.

Its tone is unexpected, predominantly but not cynically comic. The movie doesn’t settle for “write what you know.” Victor followed a tougher, more challenging internal directive: Write what you need to find out about what you know.

The story deals with a college sexual assault, without being “about” that, or only about that. “Sorry, Baby” concerns how Agnes, the sharp-witted protagonist played by Victor, makes sense of her present tense, several years after she was mentored, then raped, by her favorite professor, with the bad thing now in the past but hardly out of sight, or mind.

Victor arranges the telling non-chronologically, which keeps this liquid notion of past and present flowing as a complicated emotional state. When “Sorry, Baby” begins, Agnes is thriving as an English literature professor at the same tiny New England college she attended as a graduate student. She now lives near campus with her cat in a somewhat remote old house, crammed with books. Lydie, Agnes’s good friend from grad school played by the superb Naomi Ackie, has come for a visit, and the magical rightness of the interplay between Victor and Ackie gives the film a warm, energizing hum.

At one point, Lydie asks her if she leaves the house much. Agnes responds verbally, but her body language, her evasive eyes and other “tells” have their own say. Lydie’s question lingers in the air, just before we’re taken back to Agnes and Lydie’s grad school years for the film’s next chapter.

Here we see Agnes on the cusp of her future, surrounded by ideas and novels and opinions, as well as an envious fellow student (Kelly McCormack, a touch broad as written and played in the film’s one tonal misjudgment). Agnes’ writing has attracted the attention of the campus conversation topic Decker (Louis Cancelmi), a faculty member with a faulty marriage and a barely-read but undeniably published novel Agnes admires. The admiration is mutual, even if the power dynamic is not.

At the last minute, the teacher reschedules his meeting with Agnes to take place at his house near campus. We see Agnes arrive, be greeted at the door and go inside. The camera stays outside, down the steps and by the sidewalk, for an unusually long time. Finally she tumbles, more or less, back out on the porch; it’s getting dark by this time; Decker appears in the doorway, trying to apologize, sort of? Kind of?  And the scene is over.

Only later do we learn some unnerving particulars of what happened to Agnes, once she is ready, finally, to talk about it with Lydie. “Sorry, Baby,” as Victor said in one post-screening discussion, began with the notion of how to film the assault — meaning, what not to show. “In real life,” the filmmaker said, “we don’t get to be behind the door. We hear what happened and we believe people. (And) we don’t need to be inside to know.”

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From there, “Sorry, Baby” continues its flow back and forth, in the years in between what happened and where Agnes is now. There’s an eccentric neighbor (Lucas Hedges, unerring) who initially appears to be call-the-police material, but it doesn’t work out that way at all. Lifelines can come from anywhere, Agnes learns, and expressing oneself honestly and directly is easier said than done.

Throughout this precisely written film, we see and hear Agnes caught in weird language-built labyrinths as she squares off with the college’s HR department while attempting to file a report against the professor, or — much later — Agnes at jury duty selection for an unrelated matter, explaining the incident in her past to her questioner in weirdly funny ways. Victor’s a tightrope-walker in these scenes; “Sorry, Baby” is as much about everyone around Agnes, performing their understanding, or concern, regarding the Bad Thing in her past.

Some of the more overt bits of bleak comedy are better finessed than others, and you wouldn’t mind another five or 10 minutes of hangout time, complementing the well-paced overall structure. But even that’s a sign of success. How many standout movies have you seen this year that made you think, you know, that actually could’ve been a little longer? Clear-eyed, disarming and, yes, plainly semi-autobiographical, “Sorry, Baby” takes every right turn in making Agnes far more than a tragic yet wisecracking victim, with a smiling-through-tears ending waiting around the bend. She’s just living her full, up-and-down-and-up life, acknowledging the weight of that life without solving or dissolving the bad thing.

This is Victor’s achievement, too, of course. Already, this quietly spectacular first-time filmmaker’s promise has been fulfilled.

“Sorry, Baby” — 3.5 stars (out of 4)

MPA rating: R (for sexual content and language)

Running time: 1:44

How to watch: Premieres in theaters July 4

Michael Phillips is a Tribune critic.

In her 2023 cookbook “Seed to Plate, Soil to Sky,” New Mexico-based chef and historian Lois Ellen Frank said the present era of Indigenous cuisine revolves around modern chefs understanding the ingredients and the farming practices of their ancestors.

“It’s now up to each Native American community and each Native American chef to decide what the New Native American Cuisine is and what they are going to serve on their plates,” Frank, who was advised by Navajo chef Walter Whitewater, wrote in her introduction.

Several young women chefs are doing just that in the Denver area, starting food businesses and planting gardens as a way to reconnect with the land and the traditions of the past. They are defining in real time what New Native American Cuisine can be, from cultivation to creation.

Their work is moving forward Indigenous cuisine in a critical time of repossession after the forced relocations of the 19th century and the food distribution programs of the 20th century, a recent period Frank referred to in her cookbook as “the most painful and most difficult in terms of health and wellness in Native American Cuisine history.”

Before the exploration of the Americas, most of the Indigenous diet in the Southwest and Four Corners region came from farmed foods such as corn, beans and squash (sometimes called “the three sisters”). After the country relocated Native Americans to reservations, they were issued government rations of mass-produced food different from what they were used to, Frank writes. To her and some of her colleagues, it amounted to “nutritional genocide.”

Denver has long associated Native American cuisine with Tocabe and its fry bread tacos, made with shredded bison, hominy and roasted green chiles. When Matt Chandra and Ben Jacobs opened Tocabe in 2008, the restaurant was billed as “the only American Indian-owned and -operated restaurant in metro Denver specializing in Native American cuisine.”

After learning that Jacobs, a Native chef, was using some of his family’s recipes, Micaela Iron Shell-Dominguez, 36, knew she had to work there.

An environmental and Indigenous activist — and actor with the Annishabae Theater Exchange — whose father is Lakota and mother is from the San Luis Valley, Iron Shell-Dominguez noted the sanctity of ancestral foods and emphasized the role women played in feeding Native communities.

“I remember after working there for a while, I told Ben and Matt I was so inspired by everything they did that one day I wanted to open and own an Indigenous restaurant just like them,” she said in an email to The Denver Post.

She is now a mother of two and worker-owner of Moonshell Pizza Cooperative (www.moonshell.coop), a roving pizza crew where her partner, Sid Farber, is lead dough roller. The bounty of foods native to the region, such as corn, berries and sage, makes it easy to base dishes around those ingredients, she said. Their buffalo chokecherry pizza is one such example, she added, the chokecherry plant being native to Colorado.

Iron Shell-Dominguez’s multidisciplinary and holistic approach to her Native culture is also shared by Indigenous groups outside of North America.

Alejandra Tobar, left, and Chef Andrea Condes harvest vegetables at The Rooted Andina in Arvada on Thursday, June 5, 2025. (Photo by Hyoung Chang/The Denver Post)

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Andrea Condes, 39, was born in Caracas, Venezuela, and adopted into the United States, where she grew up and pursued a career in the culinary arts. It was in Colorado where the self-described “child of the Andes” landed. Although separated by thousands of miles, Condes saw many similarities integral to the experiences of the pre-colonial Americas.

“How people are treated, how the land is respected, how animal relatives and plant relatives are just that: relatives,” Condes said.

Drawn to root vegetables like the potato, which originated in the Andes, she started a catering company, Four Directions Cuisine (www.fourdirectionscuisine.com). She grows her own plants and is hosting meals two weekends a month through October as The Rooted Andina at her home in Arvada.

Learning about Indigenous foods and history, she said, helped her overcome the “cultural gap” of living in another country and brought her closer to her homeland.

“It’s definitely not something that I had language for when I first started walking down this path,” Condes said. “Reconnecting with those foods, I didn’t realize then, but I do now: It was me reconnecting with myself.”

Chef Andrea Condes harvests strawberries and medicinal sage at The Rooted Andina in Arvada on Thursday, June 5, 2025. (Photo by Hyoung Chang/The Denver Post)

Since growing food was a way of life, some New Native American Cuisine chefs are returning to the practice, what Frank equates with “food sovereignty.” Planting companion crops, such as the three sisters, is one of the cultivation methods Frank teaches in an effort to bring what she calls “traditional ecological knowledge” (TEK) back to Native communities.

Narissa Ribera, a member of the Navajo Nation, started planting out of necessity. She was always fascinated with food systems, a jack-of-all-trades who learned to garden as a child and had years of experience baking cottage foods.

The lifestyle developed into Ch’il Indigenous Foods (www.chil-indigenousfoods.com), a meal pickup service she started three years ago. She works out of a commercial kitchen in the Wheat Ridge Center for Music and Arts in Wheat Ridge, baking cookies with ingredients grown by Indigenous harvesters and other delicacies, like blue corn ice cream. (She’ll soon open an outdoor eating area at the arts center.)

Narissa Ribera poses for a portrait at Ch’il Indigenous Foods in Wheat Ridge on Thursday, June 5, 2025 (Photo by AAron Ontiveroz/The Denver Post)

The city of Wheat Ridge lent her two commercial plots of land behind the city’s community garden, where she cultivated the beans, corn and squash (including Apache gourds and Lakota squash) along with sunflowers. It’ll be a couple of years until the crops are ready to harvest, she said.

Until then, Ribera is preparing to launch a Native cookie and tea business with the ingredients for the tea grown in her garden, she said. She received federal grants to help with marketing and her brand, which she would one day like to see in supermarkets.

“I want representation,” Ribera said.

Popcorn kernels at Ch’il Indigenous Foods in Wheat Ridge on Thursday, June 5, 2025 (Photo by AAron Ontiveroz/The Denver Post)

Although she welcomes non-Natives who support her work and want to learn about Indigenous foods, her main concern is reconnecting Native people to their ancestral foods.

“So much was taken from us, including so much of our food,” she said. “You’ll find a lot of Native people… they’re just not interested in cooking.”

She solicits social media followers to help tend the Wheat Ridge gardens and visits classes at Jefferson County schools, showing students how to make Indigenous dishes.

At a winter holiday market, Ribera sold a box of cookies that came with a paper describing each one and the history behind its ingredients. For her, the joy was in having an authentic option for Indigenous people to gift their friends and family.