My nose crinkled as I opened the door to the dance studio. A mixture of stale sweat, stinky feet, and vanilla body spray mingled to create this unique scent. Blindfold me, tell me to take a whiff, and I would know exactly where I was. It was the first time in months since I had stepped inside.

There is a cabin in the woods of Nisswa, Minnesota that smells like lake water and wet dog. The odor seeps into everything it touches: the well-worn carpet, littered with stray crumbs; the padded porch swing, streaked with dog hair; the tiny hand towels, damp and limp in the narrow kitchen and miniature bathroom. Held together by faded yellow siding and cobweb-covered windows, the stooped building hovers above Lake Hubert, where every August six families gather for three days of outdoors, heavy carbs, and shared identity.