I have had a great deal of family join me at the lake this summer. It is not easy to get kids together with their families for vacation time with work and play schedules, especially with four kids and six grandchildren. My hubby is spending the second summer doing the opposite schedule of his normal summer routine, so we have made the best of it by flying back and forth between Florida and Michigan. Social media has been our link, with photos and posts and regular phone calls, but I know he cannot wait to be back to summering here full time.

Not a day goes by without a reminder of what a grand piece of property this lodge inhabits. The rustling of the pine, birch, poplar and oak outside my bedroom windows; the eerie loon calls echoing off the lake; the abundance of wildflowers on the trails I walk; the musty smell of old wood inside the building; the sound the waves make as they lap the shore; the scraping sound the benches make when I pull up to meals at the old linoleum covered tables and the sand I sweep up from the old wood floors on a daily basis all remind me that this building and property hold a lot of stories and memories.

This week my granddaughter Kate is visiting from San Francisco. She just graduated from high school there but lived near me in Florida most of her life. In-between jobs and her first semester of college, she gave herself a Camp Maqua week. It is the first time she has stayed here without her family but spent a great deal of time with her cousin Livvie, who is a junior in college. I could not look at them giggling and sunning themselves without thinking of all the happy girls who spent many summers here in the same spot.

The girls built campfires each night under the same stars, with the boathouse and craft hut perched behind them, roasting marshmallows to squish between their graham crackers with gooey chocolate dripping through their fingers. Stories were shared with laughter as they sat mesmerized by the fire long after their regular bedtimes and they climbed the hill to the lodge on the same trail many girls hiked over the years to their cabins.

We were on the boat every day that it did not rain, hugging the shore slowly as we motored past the many homes that line the four hundred acre lake. Families were enjoying their beaches, picnics by the lake and water toys. It is a clean quiet lake. The old Camp Mahn-go-tah-see inhabits a great deal of the shoreline, so the population is lower than most of the busy lakes that surround us. (Sixty lakes within sixty miles.)

We tried not to miss any sunsets and would park the pontoon boat, affectionately named Pont-A-Loon-A, in the cove near Recreation Hill in front of the old cabin that once belonged to the author of my favorite childhood book–“Girl of the Limberlost” by Gene Stratton Porter. The sunsets never disappoint and as the sun dipped down, we snapped as many photos as we could, trying to capture the perfect one.

Over the week, we spotted a huge deer by the shore, turtles, and even an eagle over by the boys camp. But, we are always excited when we see the majestic loons. They appear magically, after their dives, and come so close to the boat! (We were sad that no baby loon was born this year, or maybe it had been eaten by a pike or eagle.)

Saturday, after watching the weather app on our cellphones like meteorologists for a week, Livvie, her Mom, my granddaughter and I took the Long Lake Road to Glennie and rented a four person raft from Alcona Canoe. We loaded up our cooler with water and healthy snacks and climbed into the rickety old school bus that drove us the twenty minutes upriver to the spot where we embarked on our three-hour adventure.

It was overcast but fairly warm, and we were prepared for whatever the weather decided to do that day. Sun hats, water shoes, sunscreen, and bathing attire prepared us for a sunny or cloudy day and we prayed there would be no rain. The current was fast, as there has been an abundance of rain this summer, but the cool, clear water was not deep and we could see the round rocks and seaweed that trailed like mermaid hair under the water.

We wanted our experience to be a quiet one as if no other people were on the river, so we paddled quickly ahead of three kayaks and left behind a raucous family of ten tubes all hooked together and found our solitude under the same trees many of you paddled past over the years. Birds chirped, slim black dragonflies flitted around our raft, and the current gurgled over the rocks, as we meandered down the AuSable. We took turns paddling and managed to reach the old bridge where we exited, shivering as the temperatures had dropped and the rains began.

The trips into Hale for ice cream, the walks along the trails that led us around the lake, the hot nights of summer with the windows open, the days we read books on the porch when it rained, and the hobo dinners we ate were all reminiscent of the stories shared by campers and staff of their own days at camp.

I know Kate is going to board the plane in a few days with great memories and a sadness that she has to return to reality. I know that feeling, as I experience such sadness when I have to pack up and leave in the fall. So, I try to drink in as much of my surroundings and I am thankful for the stories shared that bolster the magic of a place that many called home for the summer. As one camper said, it is reverse homesickness. We cry because we are leaving to go home, not because we missed home.