A small, old house sits on the beach of Lake Michigan, straddling the seam between Grand Haven and Ferrysburg.

That house is my greatest desire. As soon as I have the means, no matter where I am, no matter when, I will buy that house.

I will buy that house because if I don’t, it will be destroyed, its roots cemented over, covered by the shell of a building. A beach home in name only, because those glass and steel frames are far from a home.

A two-lot beach mansion, complete with an outdoor bar, pizza oven, and seven other overt displays of wealth that seem to mean everything but really mean nothing at all.

A two-lot beach mansion built over the bones of two cottages full of laughter and life and joy. Two cottages torn down, two more victims of consumerism.

The new house may be prettier, cleaner. It may be worth more. But that was never what I cared about.

I cared about the first glimpse of blue water, the first sip of cool beach air, the first wisp of lake wind on my face. I cared about that sprint down the dune, hot sand burning my soles, grass stabbing my toes. I cared about the sting of the first waves on my ankles, jumping away but always going back, growing numb to the cold.

I cared about promising that we wouldn’t get our shorts wet but swimming in our clothes three minutes later. I cared about sand caking our feet and ankles, getting lost in every crack, under our fingernails. I cared about the rough hose, spraying my feet, spraying each other.

I cared about the feel of the driveway under my perpetually bare feet, leading to the sticky, squeaky door. I cared about the sound of the shades being drawn, the windows thrown open. I cared about the sunlight drenching every surface available, gilding the faded couch cushions, the lighthouse statue.

I cared about the old birch tree off the deck. I cared about climbing its willowy branches, dodging red ants, chasing them to the top, gazing at the lake from the top, imagining Chicago across the expanse. My two favorite places connected only here.

I cared about walking the pier, watching the locals fishing and the even more local seagulls stealing their spoils. I cared about standing at the end, staring into the waves, contemplating my existence and the existence of all things.

I cared about my favorite places to run. I cared about getting lost in the preserve across the street, running through backyards, getting home too late. I cared about my perfect spot at the top of it all.

I cared about the sound of horseshoes in the yard, dried grass under my feet, cold drink in my hand. I cared about washing dishes in the kitchen with my cousins, splashing and complaining but loving every minute.

I cared about the couch where I would sleep like a cat, curled in the sunlight. I cared about falling asleep to the sound of the waves, hearing it for weeks after. I cared about the beach paintings and the little Model Ts and the endless decks of cards.

I cared about the memories. The memories in every wall of the house, every window, every blade of grass. I cared about the flashbacks brought back by the sound of crickets, the smell of wet sand.

I care about my family and my memories and my beach house. I will buy it before it is lost forever. I will spend my summers there, remaking memories. I will save it. I will save you.