My dad tucked his flag into his shirt pocket, reached into the woven Nantucket basket hanging from the front door and then turned as if he were a magician, his hands behind his back.

Evan giggled.

“Ta-da!” my dad said, producing five sparklers. He handed one to each of us, forcing the last one into Nate’s hand. He then pulled a long fireplace lighter from the basket and lit them. Evan giggled even harder at the shimmering sparks.

“Remember, we have to recite all the rules before our sparklers go out,” my dad said, his voice warbling with excitement. “Go!”

“First rule of the summer cottage?” my mom asked quickly as she held her sparkler high, looking a bit like the Statue of Liberty.

“Leave your troubles at the door!” Evan and I yelled together.

“The second rule of the summer cottage?” my dad asked.

“Soak up the sun!” we said, big smiles on our faces.

“Rule number three?” my mom chimed in.

“Nap often!”

“Four?”

“Wake up smiling!”

“Five?”

“Build a bonfire!”

We recited every rule as quickly as we could—go rock hunting, dinner is a family activity, ice cream is required, be grateful for each day, go jump in the lake, build a sandcastle, boat rides are a shore thing, everyone must be present for sunset—until we got to the last one.

“And what’s the final rule, Nate?” my dad said pointedly, turning to my rigid husband, who’d yet to say a word.

“I don’t remember,” he said. “I want to get this stuff in the fridge before it spoils.”

He opened the door, dragging the cooler and suitcase inside with a loud grunt and then shut the door. Evan’s face drooped as his sparkler sputtered.

“We didn’t do it in time,” he said, his voice sagging.

“We did,” my mom said, emphasizing the first word for effect. “Great job, Evan. Want to go for a swim?”

“Yeah!” he yelled, his mood changing. He grabbed his grandma’s hand and pulled her through the front door.

Sorry, I mouthed to my dad.

He winked. “Some people don’t get the beauty of a summer cottage,” he said softly, putting his arm around my shoulder. “But the magical campers do, don’t they, Adie Lou?” He gave me a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll go grab some stuff from your car,” he said, heading down the steps.

For a moment I was alone on the front porch. Lake Michigan was as flat as glass, and the blue water was indistinguishable from the horizon. It all just ran together, and the beauty of it made me catch my breath.

Sailboats dotted the water, boats and Jet Skis zipped by in the distance, and the golden shoreline arced gently as if it were yawning and stretching its sandy back.

Such a contrast from the traffic of Chicago, I thought. Saugatuck, Michigan, is magical.