But my favorites were always lightning stones, brown rocks crisscrossed and embedded with white lines and deposits, as if they had been struck by lightning.

“Septarian stones,” my mom would always correct me when I’d use their nickname.

Lightning stones seemed magical to me as a little girl, especially after my mom told me how rare they were. “These stones aren’t found often in the world, Adie Lou, only here and in India,” my mom told me one day as we slowly walked the shoreline. “That’s why many locals believe the area just south of where we live is called Ganges. There’s something magical in the water, like the Ganges in India.”

That sparked my eventual interest in the healing properties of essential oils, and how nature itself can make you whole and healthy.

I stand—the glider rocking—pick up a lightning stone and blow the dust off it, tiny motes filling the air. I grab my coffee, my head spinning, and head toward the upstairs bedroom I want to name Go Rock Hunting.

“Hey, Frank,” I yell from the upstairs window when he and his crew arrive.

“What if—instead of wallpaper—I actually do a wall in here of my family’s lake stones?” I ask when he appears. “Wouldn’t it be beautiful?”

Frank nods but remains silent.

“And what if we covered the shower floor in smooth pieces of beach glass,” I continue, “and do the same to an outdoor shower, so guests can wash the sand off their feet before they come inside?”

“Great ideas, Adie Lou,” Frank says gingerly, as if he’s trying to talk his daughter out of having another piece of chocolate on Halloween. “But that’s more money, you know.”

I see dollar signs floating out the door, but then think of Trish. Just do it right the first time, I hear her say.

“Let’s do it,” I say.

Frank nods. “It will be beautiful,” he says. “Guests will be lucky to stay here.”

When he leaves, I jot down in my notes to add a guide to collecting Lake Michigan rocks and stones to this room, and as I am typing on my cell, a number I don’t recognize appears.

“Hello?”

“Adie Lou? It’s Scott Stevens.” There is a pause. “Scooter.”

“Oh, hi,” I say. “Up early, like me.”

“Entrepreneurs,” he says. “Listen, I was able to get your boat over here and take a look at it. Would you have time to stop by today?”

“That sounds ominous,” I say.

“Actually, it’s good news,” he says. “I thought you could use some. But there is something I’d like you to see.”

“How about right after lunch? I need to start painting. Rooms, that is. Not artwork.”

“There will be time for that one day,” he says. “See you after lunch.”