At the cottage, my only concern was how cold the water would be; my only fear was that it would rain; my only dread was how long the drive would feel; my only obligation was to have fun.

The cottage was a place without worries, just laughter: with warm brownies, hot sun, cool breezes, and smells of freshly cut wood, with boat rides, swimming, and grandma floating on her pool noodle. Little did I know, our days there were numbered, and one summer we wouldn’t go back. One day, the cottage would be a memory, vivid with sights and smells and filled with feelings, both happy and sad.

We hit the “bumpy road” and knew we were almost there. The sun beat down through the car windows, hot on our skin, and our excited words jiggled over the long gravel road. After the long, grueling car ride of two and a half hours, we were finally about to arrive at our destination. Our trip had consisted of my brother and I constantly repeating the question, “Are we almost there?” Finally the answer was “yes.”

Grandpa and Grandma greeted us all with big hugs. I wrapped my little arms around Grandma’s plump waist and breathed in her wonderful aroma, a mixture of perfume and baked goods we would later eat. I let her hug warm me in a different way than the air already had.

We were all sleepy from the heat, but the glistening lake beckoned us to jump in.  Grandpa bounced impatiently, like a little kid. “C’mon, c’mon!” he shouted, begging us to hurry. His wait shifted from foot to foot and he couldn’t keep still. There was no time to waist - the boat was ready, the sun was hot, and the water was just right.

The Molly B’golly went so fast. I closed my eyes and stretched my arms out wide, kneeling on the front white leather seat. In my mind, I was flying, soaring over the water, the cool droplets hitting my skin. The wind whipped my hair around my face. A chill ran down my spine and goosebumps suddenly covered my skin. I sat back down and scooted over to my mom, her arms waiting outstretched with a towel to wrap around my cold little body.

“This spot good?” Grandpa called.

“This is perfect,” Grandma responded, both of them yelling over the racing wind.

The boat slowed and the engine quieted to a low hum. It coasted a little closer to the shore so it was out of the way of other boaters. Grandpa turned the key all the way when he was satisfied and the engine stopped. The sound of the water rhythmically hitting the boat’s side replaced the sound of the engine and shouting was no longer necessary. The boat rocked in its own wake. I stood up, trying to keep my balance, and walked slowly and carefully to the back of the boat. Each rock of the boat pulled me to one side but I fought it the best that I could. I watched as Grandpa pulled up the felt covered floorboard and drop the anchor over the side.

“Kerplunk!” The anchor hit the water. My eyes followed it down, down, down, until it was too deep to see. I waited eagerly for Grandpa to tie up its rope when it had reached the bottom, just as he had done last summer, and the summer before that.

Grandpa pushed the ladder into the water but didn’t bother to use it. He stepped up on the side of the boat and dove in. “Woohoo!” he yelled when he came up, shaking his head so fast his lips flapped. The dogs raced after him, stepping on everything and everyone in their way. Red scratches stung on my feet that would soon be soothed by the water.

My mom tightened my purple life jacket and patted my bum. I waddled over to the ladder and cumbersomely sat down, the puffy vest restricting my movement. I dipped my toe in, only to pull it right back out, second-guessing my decision to enter the water. But, as I watched the rest of my family laughing and splashing, I knew it would be just too much fun to miss. I scootched my butt to the very end of the boat and stretched my foot to reach the second rung. I flipped to my belly and climbed down to the last rung, hesitating as I contemplated the way I would fully enter the water. I let one foot hang and one hand release its grip and pushed myself into the frigid water. My breath shortened as my lungs adjusted to the temperature drop. My legs kicked out behind me and the water swirled through my pink water shoes.

My mom made me get out when my lips turned blue. My body shook and my teeth chattered. I could no longer control the shivers, no matter how hard I tried.

At the time, I was ignorant of the fact that it would be our last summer to spend at the cottage. I had no clue how many times a smell or feeling would remind me of the days we spent in the water, lathered with sun screen and full with giggles. I wasn’t aware that every happy memory would be followed with a feeling of sadness because we would never be able to return to our little piece of heaven. In this case, this saying fits perfectly: “ignorance is bliss.”