When I was a kid, we never went on vacation. My dad had a combination gas station, repair shop, greyhound bus station that he was sure needed his presence each and every day. That, or he didn’t want to travel the open roads with up to seven kids jammed in a station wagon for extended periods of time. Back then there weren’t a bunch of extra funds floating around to bankroll a trip to Disney.

My mom stayed at home with us. Women never got full credit for that path, but she probably did the job of about three people. And more often than she admitted, she probably needed a break. Somehow, once a summer, if the stars were aligned, the weather was good and there were no glitches, she managed to get Dad to take us on an adventure just for the day. It was always a game day call–not for certain even the night before. Something might come up, it might rain, something might break, etc. My dad actually got up early to go in to work and survey the landscape before he called and gave us the green light to load up and come pick him up to hit the road.

We always did exactly the same thing and we loved it. We would pack the car full of beach stuff, picnic basket, cold drinks, sand toys and us. After the proper amount of jockying for a window seat, the ‘way back’ or even up front middle, we’d head north to a precious long beach day in door county.

The road games lasted to the first stop for breakfast at the little bakery in Algoma–right before the giant bridge. Each of us picked our favorite fresh donut, a fairly rare delicacy to be savored. My mom cleverly packed paper cups so we could share a carton of chocolate milk and enjoy our feast at the best picnic table overlooking the water. If we were lucky, we got a few minutes to run around, climb on things and burn some energy until it was time to pile back in the car and head on. No messing around if you wanted to get a good beach spot.

The drive was beautiful, though too long for us, and there were no stops on this leg of the journey. We busied ourselves calling out familiar landmarks and the names of little towns along the way. Sturgeon Bay, cherry orchard, Egg Harbor, cows, art gallery, winery, Fish Creek and finally the magnificent State Park. Then winding through the meandering park road engulfed in tall evergreens and the earthy smell of undergrowth. The sudden breaks let us glimpse the blue water and colorful sailboats–taunting us–only to close up with more trees. Finally we arrived at our destination–the grassy picnic area, the beach and the sparkling water in all its glory.

We scrambled out of the car–climbing over each other as if that would get us to the water faster. Hold it, a quick reminder to help unload our stuff before we were off. Luckily mom and dad relented and let us tear off to the waterfront while they took their time setting up our spot. Rituals.

There was nothing to compare to the sweet bliss of plunging into the clear blue water of the bay where we danced and floated and splashed the day away. There were shreiks if the water was cold. Windy and wavy days were the best for diving, screaming, getting knocked over and going right back again. Our parents dragged us out periodically for more sunscreen, food or occasional shade breaks. We grilled hot dogs from the mea† market for lunch, played frisbee and catch, or just lazed on the blankets and chairs in the sun. Sometimes we took walks or climbed the giant tower overlooking the water and the whole lushe green park. I feel like we packed a week into those days. I remember building sand castles, getting ice cream treats, or just basking in the warmth of the sun sipping Jolly Good grape.

The tradition was to stay until the beach had significantly cleared. The sun was fading and the air started to turn cooler. No one wanted to leave and we took our sweet time loading up–when they could finally get us out of the water. I admit to more than once pretending not to hear my mom as she hollered from the shore, and I remember being oddly proud when she once said “Jeannie is our little water girl, you can’t get her out!” I couldn’t explain then that beach was in my soul.

The sun was going down as we wound our way out of the park. Fast forward to the more subdued drive home after our obligatory stop at a traditional Wisconsin Supper Club-my dad’s favorite part of the day. I just remember how cool and dark it was inside compared to the brightness of the day. And squealing in the bathroom when we happily compared sunburns in the mirror. The food and music and chatter were a blur until we finally tumbled out into the car for the last time. Stamped in my memory are details of this time. The low murmur of my parents voices, being snuggled between the warm bodies of my tired, weary siblings. The darkness, the glow from the dashboard and the stars. The smell of sunscreen. The feeling that no matter what, in this moment I was safe and content and perfectly happy in the bosom of my family. I wished this drive home would last forever.