The still, lukewarm Wisconsin water allows the pontoon to slice through the lake like a knife. My family and I must travel to Schumacher Island by boat, as we cover our exposed skin—with Grandma’s knitted blankets—from the crisp winds. 

Over the Fourth of July weekend, my grandparents, aunts, uncles, parents, cousins, and siblings gather at our family-owned island on Shawano Lake. It is an unspoken tradition that we all journey on the two-and-a-half-hour drive north every July 1st and crash in the house on our island for a few days. The house is not nearly big enough for the 21 of us to sleep, but we seem to make it work with the help of air mattresses, pillows, and blankets.

As we reach our destination, my cousins and I stumble off the squeaky, old dock while holding overnight bags, gallons of water, bags of food, and other miscellaneous items our parents asked us to carry inside. I grab the old, rusting house key which hides under the deck with my one free finger. As the door opens, I feel at home. From the History of the Island essay—written by Grandpa—framed on the wall, the newspaper article of a moose walking across the lake onto the island in the 1950s, or a portrait of my six oldest cousins and me sitting on the couch side by side over ten years ago, this place holds endless memories. 

After putting all luggage upstairs in the bedrooms, the adults start cooking dinner. The go-to is burgers and brats on the grill with sides of corn on the cob, baked beans, and other countless snacks consumed throughout the day. I always go for the cheeseburger, but sometimes if I’m really hungry, I’ll go back for seconds and take a brat. 

My older cousin Michael usually finishes his food first, which gives him the opportunity to carry wood logs from the stack next to the treehouse to the campfire. Shortly after, all the kids join him in making the perfect bonfire while the parents clean the kitchen and do dishes. We make sure grandma and grandpa stay seated after they are done eating and do not help clean-up. They’ve done all the work to get us here, so we let them sit back and enjoy all they have made possible. 

The campfire is located on the back end of the island, and the best view of the sunset is from the front dock, where we park the pontoons. By the time Michael ignites the fire, the sun begins to set. My youngest cousin Brooke runs excitedly inside to grab the marshmallows, Hershey’s chocolate, and graham crackers. The parents walk outside shortly after Brooke returns. 

My mom’s favorite part about going up north is seeing the beautiful sunsets on the lake. On this Fourth of July weekend, she was lucky—this sunset was one of a kind. She was the first to walk out onto the dock and within minutes everyone was standing on the dock taking in the beauty.

Cotton candy clouds float above the burnt orange horizon. The calming dark waters allowed the sky to reflect its beauty. Every time I visit the island, the sunsets get prettier. I took a second away from enjoying the moment to take a picture on my camera. Every aspect of the vacation up north develops into that one picture I took for one second at 8:44 p.m., like a polaroid. And every time I look at that picture, all the memories that took place while it was developing come rushing back.