When I was a kid, I loved packing up the Suburban and hitting the road for a four-hour drive. That four-hour drive—full of car games, snacks, and a li’l fighting with my sister—promised days of frog-catching, campfires, fishing, kitty cocktails, bocce ball, Fresher, cards, King Queen of the Raft, forts, and family. And like any good Midwestern family, it also included way too much food. Think: Las Vegas Buffet with brats instead of lobster and Tupperware instead of stainless chafing dishes.

My grandparents live on a 61-acre lake in Vilas County. Luckily, the lake doesn’t show up on Google maps, so it’s basically a hidden oasis. There are five properties on the lake, but the majority of the land is National Forest, keeping the area protected. Since the lake doesn’t permit gas motors, it’s peaceful, crystal clear, and full of wildlife.

The Up North side of my immediate family (my mom’s side) consists of twelve people: Grandma, Grandpa, Aunt, Uncle, four girl cousins, my parents, my sister, and me. All six of us kids were born between 1989 and 1995. This meant built in friends. Aside from the occasional tick, sliver, and fight, it was pretty perfect.

A Summer Day Up North

Some days, one or two of us would wake up early to go fishing with Grandpa. The only fish in the lake are panfish, largemouth bass, and smallmouth bass. Luckily, there are no muskies (aka: spawn of the devil). Grandpa has always been a good fishing buddy. He encouraged us to put the worm on ourselves, but always removed the hook and broke out the needle nose pliers when necessary. Plus, he taught us where all the fish beds are (made of sticks, logs, and pallets).

Breakfast usually consisted of coffee cake (dessert for breakfast), cereal, toast, monkey bread (more dessert for breakfast), fruit (to cancel out the dessert), or eggs and peppery bacon. Whoever was awake got to help Grandma make the monkey bread. The best job was cutting the Pillsbury Grands into bite-size pieces. So satisfying. The six kids generally sat at the kitchen counter on stools (with stool covers handmade by Grams). And the adults ate at the table or out on the screened in porch.

Unless it was storming, the remainder of the day was spent outside. We spent hours in the woods that surrounded the house. We built legit forts with walls made of sticks that were taller than us. We gathered moss chunks and attached them to old logs to create benches. We raked the forest floor so our forts had ‘clean’ dirt floors and we each built a store where we sold woven cattail mats and other woodsy creations.

When we weren’t in the woods, we caught frogs in the lake. Catch-admire-and-release style. We built mini frog habitats in five gallon buckets and brought our frogs out swimming. If you’re concerned, twenty years later the frog population is still going strong, so I don’t think any frogs were seriously harmed. Mentally, maybe, but not physically. Frog-catching usually led to canoeing, paddle boating, and/or swimming, which led to King of the Raft. Before the raft was upgraded to a carpeted wood box, it was an old sailboat. Surprisingly, I don’t remember any serious raft injuries.

In addition to our fort-building, frog-catching, and swimming, we played a crazy amount of outdoor games. The front yard—sandwiched between the house, lake, and woods—was flat enough to play things like Fresher. The only challenge was convincing 4 or 6 cousins to play so we had even teams. In addition, as you walk around the house, the terrain is diverse enough to play unpredictable games of bocce ball (which I just learned is traditionally played in a boring pit) and frisbee golf. I think only one or two of Grandma’s flower pots have died at the hand of a bocce ball. Sorry, Grams. We also hit golf balls onto a floating green in the lake (or the raft, if you’re my Uncle), which later required diving for golf balls.

In addition to the outdoor games, Up North is famous for its seemingly endless supply of cards and cribbage boards. Some of our favorites to play were aggressive games of spoons, multiplayer speed, regular speed, war, Phase 10 (this led to fights, obviously), Rummy, Chinese Checkers, and cribbage.

When 5:00 rolled around, that meant (and still means), cocktail hour. We each had our own cocktail cup and there was always a monster jar of cherries in the fridge for kitty cocktails. We usually drank our kitty cocktails by the fire. Grandpa started the fire before we even woke up (this still happens) and we sat around it into the night. If we were extra lucky, my mom and Uncle tag-teamed fire-roasting corn-on-the-cob. That fire pit has witnessed some of the best stories, memories, and secrets.

As bedtime rolled around, we would occasionally watch a movie, but not before determining sleeping arrangements. The six of us shared three beds on the first floor of the house. Each night—in an effort to minimize the crying (picture me in the purple coat below)—we drew popsicle sticks to determine who slept in which bed with whom. Each popsicle stick had a name on it and an adult would randomly select two popsicle sticks for each bed. What a production.

And about the movies, they were obviously VHS tapes. Some of the greatest hits included: The Wacky Adventures of Ronald McDonald: Scared Silly and Have Time, Will Travel, Mrs. Doubtfire, and The NeverEnding Story. The only other time the TV was on was for the Today Show, Wheel of Fortune, or Grandpa’s favorite, The Red Green Show.

Up North holds some of my favorite childhood memories, recent memories, and future memories. I’m lucky to have a place—and a family—some people only dream of.