The Lake Cabin

Every August, my whole extended family rents the same old cabin on the lake. It has creaky floors, a temperamental stove and exactly one bathroom for fourteen people. We love it.

The days are simple. Swimming in the morning, card games in the afternoon, a big dinner at the long picnic table. At night we sit on the dock and look at more stars than you can ever see in the city.

This year my great-uncle, who is ninety, taught my daughter how to fish. They sat on the end of the dock for three hours. She caught one tiny sunfish and threw it back, and they both acted like it was the catch of the century.

We've been going to that cabin for twenty-two years. People have grown up, gotten married, had babies. Some faces are new, and some we miss. But the lake is always the same, waiting for us.

It is the most beautiful week of every year.