Approximately one-hundred-fifty miles northwest of Hartland is a narrow, slightly torn road with houses on each side. The further down the road you travel, the closer you get to the collection of water known as Houghton Lake. There is a chain of cottages on the right side of this road, each cottage unique in its features, but similar due to the name of whom it is owned by.

The fourth of July is a popular time that families gather around this lake, each year my family visits these cottages near this lake, and although that never changes, each year presents itself with new memories, that will be remembered and reminisced.

Upon arriving, we greet at the house in the middle of the three, often embracing each other with hugs and “I love yous.” Minutes pass and my sisters and I run to the third cottage, the farthest from the lake, to change into our bathing suits in order to show our uncle that we are more than ready to dip our feet into the cold waters of Houghton Lake.

After grabbing a mixture of towels, snacks and sunscreens, we race down to the lake like our lives depend on it. We then race back up to the garage to grab the large circular tube that we will soon be gripping to for our dear lives.

As the sun sinks in the sky, the smell of bonfire arises into the air along with the smell of wet dog and lake water. The hammocks strung across trees sit gently only moving slightly due to the breeze that comes across the lake. The sound of my family laughing about something Uncle Denny said fills the air as a feeling of warmth and joy consumes my heart. The sun slowly but surely sinks leaving nothing but the beautiful shades of pink, yellow, and orange behind. In the distance the American flag sways as it stands tall on the stern of the neighbors boat.