I remember waking up and running outside, looking at the waves hugging the sand and being filled with excitement. I bounded back inside, practically jumping into my bathing suit and immediately waking my parents up; it was a beautiful day and it was beach time. The whole family would be there, with cousins and brothers and sisters from both sides merging together into a sea of smiling faces. I can still taste the char off of the newly grilled burgers, pink in the middle, and juicy with every bite.

By mid-afternoon, I’d be out in the middle of the lake, swimming and chasing the seagulls with my cousins, racing to see who could get back to shore the fastest. The porch was my favorite spot; it provided shade when the sun began to take it’s toll and turn the tip of my nose red, and provided cover when the rain began to rush down and soak everything in it’s path. The bedroom had glass doors that you could see out to the beach, and every night I would urge my parents to close the shades; I didn’t want bigfoot or any other monster that lies in the woods to be able to watch us sleep. With a laugh, and then a sigh, they would follow my orders and slowly pull the shades close.

My grandfather and me used to spend a lot of time together at the cottage. Whether it was when we would make an early breakfast for the family to eat around the huge, wooden, oak dining room table, or when he was teaching me how to play card games out on the picnic table on the porch, we were inseparable. I remember chasing him to the water’s edge, and diving into the paddleboat. No matter how fast I thought I was, Papa was always in the driver’s seat of the boat and ready to go before me. That was OK, though. It meant he had to do most of the work while I stared out towards the island in front of us. Marked with huge “NO TRESPASSING” signs, it seemed to only be inhabited by birds, turtles and plants. If I wasn’t so afraid of getting left out on that island or sinking into the muck, I would have explored it.

By the end of the week, I’d sulk into the car, jammed with suitcases from top to bottom. The back seats had just enough space for my brother and I to squeeze in. I’d watch as we pulled out of the long driveway, surrounded by trees, as the cottage slowly disappeared from my view. As we drove down the dirt road towards the main highway, my eyes would immediately fill with tears. I already would ache for the next summer. I missed my favorite place already.