The cottage was my favorite place to be. The sound, the smell, the people, the memories all intricately woven in my mind. It was the perfect place where time seemed to stop and the world became still and pleasing and good.

We bought the Shoestring Cottage when I was only 6. It was a chipped, ugly, olive green house that sat perched on top of the sand dunes. The inside was dark and musty, unfinished and a little scary. But, with a few fresh coats of bright yellow paint, some hard wood floors, and new furniture we had made it into a cozy beach home that we couldn't wait to escape to each summer. 

The view from the cottage was breath taking. It will forever be etched into my mind. If I close my eyes I imagine I am there. Stepping onto the large wrap around porch your eyes fell upon the most beautiful sight in the world. Lake Michigan, its waters lapping at the sandy yellow shores, dune grass dancing in the wind.

The morning sun would peek through the same window each morning and gently wake my sister, Hadlee, and I up. Popping up I’d crawl down the ladder of our bunk beds to the floor peaking at Hadlee fast asleep. I would nudge her a few times before her droopy eyes would open and she would push her covers aside. We would race up the stairs, into the kitchen where mom would be brewing a fresh pot of coffee. 

After eating a bowl of honey nut cheerios we would race back down stairs to put our bathing suits on, collect our towels, books, buckets, shovels, and sunscreen in a large tote bag. Swinging the bag over my shoulder we would make the long trek down to the water.

Down 

Down 

Down 

The old rickety stairs. 

Through the winding sand path while dune grass poked at our feet. The path opened up like a mouth and the beach and water stretched further than they eye could see.

The waves beckoned us in. Games of Mermaid, scuba divers, and surfers would ensue. 

When our bodies were cold and tired Hadlee and I would run back on shore laying our wet bodies in the warm sand. We would become sand monsters and chase each other back into the waters. 

Sand castles were built. Books were read, Pb and J sandwiches were eaten.

Long beach walks were always apart of a day at the beach. Mom said, “you can’t go to the beach without a beach walk.” We made sure to always follow that crucial rule. I would hold my mom or dad's hand and we would walk on the hard packed sand, the water licking our feet as it ebbed and flowed. 

The cottage was a gathering place. A place where friends would drive out to spend the day splashing in the waves, soaking in the sun, laughing and playing until the sun would sink low in the sky. More times than not after the sun tucked beneath the horizon we would dig a hole in the sand and collect driftwood to build a fire. We would sit around the crackling fire roasting marshmallows while the sky darkened above us and stars began to speckle the sky.