It’s 5am and the sun creeps past the tops of the trees. The lake looks like a clear sheet of ice. I hear the loons. The twang from the line and the splash in the water sound like music.

Pulling into the gravel road of the resort was magical. We knew we were in for a week of fun, swimming, skiing, volleyball, and most importantly, fishing.

After a day of fishing, my cousins and I come back to the resort. I run to the cabin to get a plastic bag for the fish. I throw the fish into the freezer. We’ll use them on Thursday.

Ever since we’ve been going to St. Germain, we’ve had a fish fry the Thursday before we leave. My uncle starts up the propane frier and I smell the oil from inside the cabin. Sounds of crackling and popping can be heard from the volleyball pit where cousins play.

Uncle Steve yells down to the volleyball pit, “The fish is ready.”

All the cousins are busy playing so they yell back, “Just a few more minutes.” Eventually everyone is at the table, eating the crunchy fish perfectly seasoned with cajun and garlic.

Looking around, I see everyone laughing, and joking, and the happiness in the family—something I usually don’t have in our chaotic world of school and work. But for a moment, just a moment, for one meal, we all have smiles on our faces.

This is the last meal we all eat together, until 365 days later, when we all see each other again.