I cross my legs and position myself like a Buddha in the middle of my huge shower. I quiet my brain, align my mind and body and outline my plan of action. After a few seconds, I feel something in my lap, and I open my eyes to find Sonny—now much bigger than he was weeks ago—trying to lie down.

“You’re squashing my organs, big guy,” I say. “And I need those.”

I give him a kiss on the head, push him off my lap, stand and walk back into my bedroom. I slide open the newly installed French doors to test them. As I do, I brace myself for the shock of cold air, but instead a warm breeze greets me.

I sigh and inhale.

There is something about the first warm day of the year in Michigan. It arrives unexpectedly, like a message in a bottle that just suddenly washes up to shore.

I call Sonny, and we walk out onto the small wooden porch that Frank has built, just big enough for two chairs. It is hidden from the rest of the cottage—set behind the wall of the new bathroom—but is bathed in sunlight. Sonny immediately lies down on the patio, his body soaking up the sun. I kneel to pet his fur, already warm, when I see a cluster of snowdrops blooming just behind the patio. I smile.

The first warm day is just like these delicate white flowers, I think. It comes as a pretty surprise. Yes, there will be more cold, but this offers promise.

I stand and look around. Just like the progress on the cottage.

I tilt my face toward the sky, shut my eyes and let the sun warm me, calm me, lull me.

“I can almost taste summer,” I say to myself.

Suddenly, an image of Saugatuck’s local ice cream shop fills my mind.

Lick Effect Ice Cream—possibly the corniest but most appropriate name for an ice cream shop ever—has been a mainstay in town ever since my mom was a little girl. The shop is tucked just off the main drag—Water Street—and down a narrow alley in a tiny space. The shop makes its own ice cream and waffle cones, and the only sign that the shop has opened for the season is when a mannequin—outfitted in a wig and sequined bikini—is positioned in a window over the storefront, its legs—which have been made over to resemble waffle cones—jutting into the alley. When its waffle cone legs are uncrossed, Lick Effect is open for business. When they are crossed, it is closed.

Like spring in Michigan, Lick Effect has no definitive opening date. The first warmish early spring day, the mannequin will appear and the shop will suddenly open. The first frigid fall day, the mannequin will disappear and the shop will be closed for winter.