Growing up in upstate New York, I have fond memories of walking into Lake George candy shops with my grandfather Pa while my mother was at work. The waft of chocolate and sugar that hit you as soon as you opened the door. The bright, colorful displays of candy paired with the earth tones of chocolate-filled cases. The pure delight, not just in the endless selection of sweet treats, but in the full sensory experience of being a kid in a candy store.

The smells! The colors! The excitement of being with someone you love in a place that feels full of possibilities. I generally gravitated toward what I now consider some dubious choices: candy buttons and gummy raspberries. My grandfather always picked fruit slices, and we’d choose a few chocolate turtles to bring home to my grandmother.

Those memories had faded over time until I learned that the Vermont Nut Free Chocolate storefront was closing its doors. My 5-year-old daughter, Ruby, has nut allergies, so we tend to steer clear of food-focused shops. It’s something so ingrained in our family life that none of us really felt like we were missing out on anything. My husband and I had always planned to bring her to Vermont Nut Free someday. We figured there would be time. The closure announcement sparked a deep-rooted need to get there before the doors closed for good.

I wanted Ruby, who doesn’t yet realize how different certain things are for kids without food allergies, to have that experience I so fondly remembered. I needed her to have it. I needed to have it.

I checked the store hours and teared up as I made our plan. When I told Ruby, she squealed and then immediately made a card for the person who worked there to show her gratitude and excitement. (We unfortunately misplaced it in our rush out the door, but we plan to mail it to the factory, which will remain open even after the storefront is shuttered. It’s great.)

We made the last-minute trek from Ripton to Colchester and arrived at the storefront 30 minutes before closing. My husband had barely parked the car before he was urging us toward the door, determined to maximize our candy store time. The moment we walked in, that familiar yet long forgotten smell of chocolate confections hit me, and suddenly I was transported back to those childhood visits with Pa.

But this time, I was seeing it through my daughter’s eyes.

Being able to tell her she could choose whatever she wanted was a gift. Not having to check every label before adding something to our basket was welcomely foreign, although I still caught myself checking a few. We nearly cleared out the remaining stock and headed home with a giant bag full of safe candy. Along the way, we stuffed our faces with a variety of chocolates and jellybeans and balanced things out with a few vegetables I had packed for the ride.

Even though the candy to veggie ratio left a lot to be desired from a health standpoint and the sugar crash later that evening was gnarly, I wouldn’t change it for the world.

That day, Ruby got to be a kid in a candy store.

And so did I.