Closing my eyes, I begin to search for a familiar memory. The very first one that comes to mind is a keeper, the family cottage, a major piece of my childhood. It sat right on Round Lake and all you had to do was cross the street to find Devils Lake. So many pictures were taken here, especially on the fourth of July when the whole family came up, aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents. Staying up late watching fireworks shimmer over the water. Then sleeping in the next morning, waking up to cartoon network and some bumper pool. Eventually the kids would head out to Devils Lake to go shell searching and find the occasional fish egg. Maybe take a swing on the old rope tied to the tree or go for a boat ride out to the sandbar. Then when night fell again we would go out to watch the sunset on the dock, where we would then find some stray ducks swimming by, which would send my sisters and I running back into the cottage to fetch a loaf of bread to feed them.
If I went back to the cottage today I know disappointment would be waiting for me. I have such a specific memory to it that seeing the differences now would kill me inside. Sometimes I wonder, and wish to go back as a place to reminisce. But the changes that other owners have made keep me away, I don't want them to dim the sparkle of my clear memories.
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