I step out of the white Tahoe that has traveled twelve hours through traffic, endless movies and constant fighting of two sisters. I look around me and see the green trees of the little quaint town of Door County, Wisconsin. I inhale the sweet smell of the lake front breeze and close my eyes and try to remember the previous year. All of the late night walks to Wilson’s ice cream store, shopping in all of the unique boutiques, and of course my personal favorite the candy shop only five houses down. I open my eyes now excited for the next week in my favorite vacation spot. My mom’s family always came here every July to have our family reunion. I sprint full speed up to the petite, white, country house that I remember from last summer. I can feel the gravel underneath my feet and when I hit the green grass I feel relieved of the pain. I scamper up the wooden porch steps and place all five fingers on the black porch handle. I run in the house and catch the sweet scent of gum drops my uncle always has on the living room coffee table right next to the gray remote that I can never remember how to work. The smell over takes the hole first floor and I didn’t mind that one bit because it was the best scent to wake up to. I gaze at the counter in the kitchen to see my uncle standing with the brand new, full bag of Piggily Wiggly oatmeal bread in his hand, which is my favorite. I race over to give my uncle Jimmy a massive hug. His gray hair is neatly combed and he is wearing his rectangular, silver glasses that have been the same since I was born, and then look to my left to find my aunt. Her blonde hair looks light and fluffy, her eyes are full of life and her white straight teeth shine as she smiles. After I have said my hellos I walk over to the clear, glass candy jar I have been waiting to break in. I look in the glass container and pick out two oranges a purple and a red. I felt a thick, fat, hairy creature rubbing up against my tan legs from all of the summer days at the pool back in Louisville. I look down to see a huge gray cat, and her name is CC. She purrs as she gracefully rubs my smooth leg. I walk back into the kitchen to find my mom, dad and sister talking to my uncle and aunt. They are catching up on all of the latest gossip, from Hedi, the next door neighbor that always has something to talk about even when you think she’s said it all, to Wilson’s brand new ice cream flavor.

It’s my first night in Door County and I am already anxious to go sight seeing even though I have probably seen more than half of the residents that live here. As I finish my bratwurst with ketchup, and I remind my uncle of the tradition of always going to get ice cream the very first night we arrive. He says, “Not until your Uncle John, your cousin Wendy and your Aunt Becky arrive, Mandy.” As soon as the rest of the family arrives I race to give each of them a hug, hoping that they will unpack quickly. When my uncle John walks down the stairs I knew we were ready to go, I grabbed my blue Limited Two jacket by the hood and viciously opened up the door, I sprinted out. My mom constantly is bugging to get the best picture of the whole family with her black Nikon camera. In Door County the scenery is always perfect, weather its in the winter where every inch of land is covered in snow, fall where the magnificent colors of the trees glow off of the lake, spring where the flowers are all blooming and the foxes are around every corner, or my personal favorite, summer where the baby blue skies bounce off of the horizon and the weather is always perfect. We all sigh dreading the numerous pictures she takes. She says she will only take one, but one simple click turns into seventy. When we finally get back to walk, I realize the muscles in my legs are starting to burn. I ask my uncle Jim to lift me onto his shoulders. As he hoists me onto his yellow Ralph Lauren Polo the cool lake front breeze dries the sweet beads from my forehead and my whole body begins to relax.

I then see what I have been waiting for this whole summer. From a far I see the red roof and the white walls of my favorite ice cream store. As we get closer I begin to see the array of yellow, pink, and red flowers on the white painted railing and the cardinal red Coke machine resting on the outside of the building. The building is old and has been there since 1906, but it shows no sign of aging because the fresh coat of paint from the previous year hides any flaw. There is a large sign right above of it, I read it and smile, Wilson’s. As I walk up the painted white wooden stairs I can smell the sent of the newly churned ice cream which makes the air smell like milk and candy. I open up the clear glass door and hear the high pitched chime of the bell, turn to my right and see three woman and a man in their red polos with black aprons and I immediately know they are the waiters. About the height of one of the workers is a black chock board with a brown, wooden rim that has all of the different flavors of the delicious homemade ice cream. Near the left corner of the board is a line clock that shows how many customers they are now serving, I loved watching the number raise, it always seemed to amaze me. I hear the brown headed waitress yell, “Next!” and I race up to the front. I stand on my very tippy toes and use my arm to push my body off the ground so that I can see, my size twelve shoe is no longer touching the white tile that was once underneath my feet. I ask for one scoop of peppermint ice cream and Wilson’s was the only ice cream parlor that I knew of that had peppermint.

I turn around and shovel my way through the dense crowd of fifteen or twenty people. It may not seem like a lot, but trust me, in this tiny building five is packed. I am relieved when I see the glass doors I had walked through ten minutes earlier. I begin to talk to my uncle when my number is called, I cannot wait to hold the cold styrofoam cup in my hand. I begin to shove through the crowd once again. When I see the wooden counter, I am ecstatic to see my peppermint ice cream happily placed right next to the shiny mettle napkin holder. I grab a white napkin and a white, plastic spoon which I shove into the blush colored ice cream. When I reach the outside, I sit on the red bench that looks as if it could collapse any minute, but I didn’t care, so I sat next to my dad who is eating a double scoop of black cherry ice cream. I ask for a bite every time even though I never like the flavor he buys. My mom once again brings out her camera that we all hate. Jimmy yells, “Barbie!” as my mom takes another snap shot of the family backing up to the beautiful pink and orange sunset. If there was one thing in this world my mother couldn’t live with out was Door County Sunsets, boy did my mom love those pictures. It wasn’t like these pictures sat in a box gathering dust. No they were framed, around every turn of our household. I savor my last bight of the crunchy, heavenly ice cream and I try to keep the flavor fresh in my mind for I only have it once a year. Even though I will be eating here every night I will not taste this flavor again till next year, for there are just to many to try. As I stand up I begin to walk towards the gray trash can with splats of various flavors of ice cream splattered all over the lid. As my fingers begin to slowly slip away I replay all of the new memories I have created and I know that they will never be forgotten because this was the one time of the year that I get to see some of the most important people in my life. I feel my thumb and pointer finger release the soft, styrofoam surface and I hear a thud. Though the cup is gone I know the wonderful memories of Wilson’s in the precious little town of Door County, Wisconsin are not.