The first time we brought the girls to Maine, a pamphlet advertising a small cottage for rent brought us to Ferry Beach in Saco, a two-hour nap away from our home.

We bundled our new baby girl into the car seat next to her older sister, and packed the car with enough kid stuff (high chair, potty seat, stroller, beach umbrella) for a month-long expedition.

“She looks like a china doll,” said the cottage owner when she saw Arianne, then turned to our older daughter, asking, “And what’s your name?” Rita hung on to my leg, but by the end of the week she had warmed to the sweet woman and didn’t want to leave.

On a map of Ferry Beach, each street name brings its own memories of the cottages we stayed in over the years: Eagle Avenue, Fairhaven, Sunrise, Lower Beach Road.

Other than an evacuation from one cottage when Hurricane Bob passed through, our stays were poignant in their simplicity. We had a “no television” rule and spent our mornings at the beach, reading and working on puzzles. After dinner, we walked to Camp Ellis for ice cream and a visit to the gift shops. The end of the week always came too quickly.

We rented cottages at Ferry Beach for about 20 years, until a little cottage was offered for sale and we were able to buy it. By then, the girls had finished college, found jobs and moved away from home, but each has found time to return to the beach cottage. As much as I need to return to Ferry Beach each summer, I like knowing that the girls have a place to go to when they need to remind themselves of a simpler life.

Last week, I packed my car with a box full of our daughters’ old children’s books for the trip to Maine. I set the books on a table in front of our cottage with the sign: “Children’s Books – Free.”

Within minutes, three girls set their bikes down on the grass and began looking through the collection: Beverly Cleary and Roald Dahl for the older kids; “Curious George” and “Madeline” for the younger ones; nursery rhymes and ABCs for the toddlers.

By the next day, most of the books were gone. I’m glad technology hasn’t won out over quiet reading at the beach, but I shouldn’t have been surprised.

It’s true that Ferry Beach is not the same as it was 30 years ago. There are too many condos and the streets are more congested than they were, but Ferry Beach remains a magical place. A week feels longer than seven days. Life does not seem as complicated as we think, and children remain children here just a little bit longer.