The Greatest of Lakes If We Can Keep It

 

Sand gives way under my feet

as I bend to the effort

of climbing a dune

on the sweetwater sea.

 

Beyond waving fronds of seagrass

water to the horizon heaves and hurls

plumes of foam that pound the shore.

It polishes stone

and whittles driftwood

burnished and smooth as a baby’s sole.

 

With sand in my shoes

hardpack underfoot

I fill my pockets.

Clouds scurry happily overhead

as gulls ride the waves

like surfers in wet suits.

 

Where water meets sky

the stars and the moon live in the depths

while on a rush of wing

eagle eats gull and feathers fly—

            ferocious predator

            rules the sky

while fox of the bayou

trots over the sedge

to circle his den of many rooms—

            intrepid hunter

rules the beachhead

as Superior turns herself

inside out to bring in treasures

whittled to size by the push and pull

of the big shining sea.

For dVerse, the Poet's Pub, and their Open Link Night, Poets and Storytellers, what does "low battery" mean to you, and how do you recharge?  and What's Going On the writer's blog that asks us to think about the personal nature of homemade gifts, and while they're the best, I think gifts washed up on the shore of Lake Superior might be their equal 

 

The multi-cultural beach

Woman in hijab in line at the bath,
child clings to her hand with wondering eyes.
I wonder what they think of us-
bathing suits and messy hair,
bare legs and fleshy thighs.
I wonder what they think of us.

Pretty Things

When you change your routine, regardless of reason or desire, it is difficult to re-calibrate your day. A rainy day is a writer's best friend, and a visit to the big lake (Lake Huron, for those of you who aren't familiar with this blog), brings me back to my organic roots.

Oh, how I treasure this life, our lakes, and the written word. Even when I'm never here, I'm always here.

Pretty Things.

A freighter drifts out of the mist.
We watch it crawl along the horizon.
Two girls braid their hair in the shallows

and a woman in a red bathing suit
and pink bandanna looks for something pretty.
A twin engine plane putts overhead

following the shoreline, putt, gasp! putt.
Buoys that mark the safe swimming boundary
bounce as a speed boat skims by.

Sail boats peak the horizon, bothering nobody,
seemingly not moving, but when you look back, they are gone,
swallowed by a lake that makes pretty things.

One ale later, we have to turn our heads to see the freighter
chugging for the straits with determination
and the woman is on her knees, looking for something pretty.

November Stew

Thoughts for November:

Is Sandy an anomaly (just a freak storm), or is Sandy our new reality? Does the fact that Greenland had no summer ice shield for the first time in recorded history have a bearing on the fact that the storm turned inland instead of out to sea, as is the norm?

We're off for the north country for a needed respite. Heading to Lake Superior to catch a sight of the gales of November off the "big  shining sea". But I expect we'll miss the whitecaps to the horizon reported yesterday.

While the devastation on the East Coast is heart wrenching, the new civility in the political campaign is as refreshing as a dip in aforementioned lake. I trust that New York and New Jersey will bounce back with their usual resilience, assisted by the coordinated help of a a fully funded FEMA and a strong Federal Government. At times like this, it sure is nice to have one.

We will be back in time to vote. I hope everyone does. They always talk about "likely" voters in the polling data. What about the 90 million unlikely voters? What would happen to all the polling data if a majority of them turned out?

Five days to the big election. Let's vote!

Oh, and of course I'm taking my diary and my kindle so I can write and write and write, keep in touch with the online world, and inbibe in some of Marquette's famous micro breweries (seeking the muse), all while enjoying the serenity of Michigan's Upper Peninsula. Wish me a safe journey! I'll see you in Five.

Who's Visiting You?

I recently added a flag counter to my blog and have been amazed at the number of countries represented. I don't know how accurate it is, but I wish I would have done it sooner. If you're just starting a blog, I would recommend adding one. It's easy and fun to see where your readers are coming from. It makes the world seem intimate and small, which in the grand scheme of things, I guess it is.

It's a very foggy morning in the thumb of Michigan, a sure harbinger of fall, but summer temperatures are still with us for the Labor Day weekend. I hope to have time to visit "our" lake. Lake Huron is beautiful still, at least on the surface.

There are disturbing reports of pollution from coal-burning power plants and invasive species lurking in the depths and I hope that the people in charge of our environmental protection agencies know what they're doing.

I say "our" because the lakes are public as are the shorelines and beaches. The public is entitled to access up to the high water mark (an ambiguous boundry, I admit) but private landowners like to discourage the public from enjoying the access they are entitled to. They think of the lake in front of their property as theirs. The lakes belong to all of us and I encourage people who live here or are visiting here to feel free to walk the shoreline. Find an access point and walk.

To not spend time on or beside these basins of beauty is a sacrilege. Fish, skip stones, swim, hunt for shells and driftwood and collect pebbles, capture the beauty on your camera or canvas. All any of us would ask when you visit is that you leave nothing behind to show you were here....except something like this:

OF SONG AND WATER . . . Shallots and Garlic!

Is it really October? October 11th?? Holy cow! The weather this past week has been so beautiful I've lost track of time. What have I been doing? Checking in occasionally on all of you and planting shallots and garlic-Purple Stripe, German Hardy and Porcelain, rows and rows.

One thing I did want to share with you this morning is the book I'm currently reading....OF SONG AND WATER.


This novel by Joseph Coulson is the story of Coleman, a jazz musician who can no longer play, his mentor and teacher, a black man trying to live quietly on the edge of a white town, his father, an expert sailor, and his grandfather who was a rum runner on the Detroit River during Prohibition. Coulson expertly weaves his tale between generations, from the shores of Lake Huron (our beloved inland sea)and the narrows of the river, to jazz clubs in Detroit and Chicago and a marina in winter where Coleman retreats to his father's sailboat.

I don't know how I happened upon this gem but it's a captivating story that had me from the opening paragraph.

He climbs without faith, the ladder unsteady, the wooden rungs brittle, each step filling the air with the sound of old bones. Don't look down, he thinks, watching the slow drift of his shadow, seeing its darkness on the long white surface of the hull.

I think it unusual to find novels that take place in and around the Great Lakes (UP reviewed here is another) and I'm always excited to find one.

Would you rather read a novel that takes place somewhere you've never been or one that takes place close to home in places you've seen? I think the latter adds an element of understanding because you can bring your own experience into the narrative rather than having to depend solely on an author's skill at guiding your imagination.

Fred Bear

How do I describe the big lake to you in the face of a hard north wind that waters my eyes and takes my breath away? How can I even begin to show you what I see? OK, I’ll try, because it’s worth trying. And please forgive me if my efforts fall short, for even a picture doesn't capture the feel of a place-the magnetic pull, for instance, at a certain location by the Dead Sea called Jericho, or the aura of the Grand Canyon at sunset. I can look at pictures in the National Geographic where the best are published, but will I feel the depth of the gorge in the pit of my stomach?

Lake Huron is a shimmering mirage, a frozen landscape of jagged ridges and valleys—waves caught in the freeze-frame of February. At first glance it appears solid, like a snow-covered field, but then the undulating movement of the surface in sync with the swells below it, captures the eye. Like the sands of Dune, the whole thing is heaving with the power of what lies beneath. It mesmerizes like the head of a cobra. I cup my mittened hands around my eyes to block the wind and stare. Further out, in open water, jagged ice floes peak the horizon like sailboats. This monster of a lake with the reach of an ocean has always amazed me.

One lone ice fisherman walks the bank with his backpack and his pail and walking stick. He tramps carefully in cleated boots. He is prepared, bundled up like a Sherpa guide. I am not. I don’t have my camera (so you’ll never believe this), I don’t have my long underwear, and I don’t have my boots. What I am is crazy, and what I have is a new haircut with caramel highlights still damp from the salon, hidden by the scarf wound tight around my head for this impromptu walk on the breakwater. When I realized I was only three miles from the lake, I knew I would keep going. How does anyone turn their back on this water? I’ve never been able to figure that out. I’ve never been able to do it.

I wrap my scarf over my mouth and walk along the railing of the breakwater to where the sand turns to ice, afraid to go further, afraid I’ll slip or my scarf will blow away and I’ll be tempted to chase it, afraid I’ll fall off the edge onto the shifting ice.

He is Fred Bear. It says so on the back window of the pickup truck I parked alongside. Just drill that hole his bumper sticker encourages his fellow fishermen. With the bad economy, ice fishing is on the uprise. It doesn’t cost anything and you can bring dinner home. I like a man bullish on winter, one who can bring dinner home. There are only the two of us out here. If I get in trouble, will he save me? If I get frostbit, will he unthaw me?

I start back for the car. I can’t keep up with him. I walk past park benches and frozen fountains. I walk past the restaurant that used to be the summer hot spot. The view was destroyed when they built the marina and extended the breakwater and now it’s shuttered, like the dancehall and the roller rink. Only the lake is still the same.

I walk past his truck with the bumper stick innuendo and hop in my little Ford and turn on the heat. I shake out my hair and laugh. The damp tendrils on my neck are frozen stiff. Oh, Fred, if I had my long underwear on I’d go out with you and help drill that hole.

Can They Be Stopped?

Everything is connected on planet Earth. It is said that the flutter of a butterfly wing in Thailand affects a thunderstorm in Wisconsin. Because of a century-old mistake, this ugly, inedible, aggressive fish is within striking distance of Lake Michigan. If it reaches the lakes the fear is that it will destroy the Great Lakes fishing industry, harm the drinking water that 40 million people depend on, and make the lakes unsafe for swimming and boating.

Asian Carp have been moving up the Mississippi River into the Illinois River for years, and now they’ve reached the canal that connects the infested Illinois River to Lake Michigan. This canal was dug over a hundred years ago for ease of moving barge traffic into the lakes, and all that separates the carp-infested Illinois River from them is a single, electrified barrier. If that barrier needs to be shut down for maintenance—and occasionally, it does—there's nothing to stop the intruders from making their way into the freshwater paradise.

Asian Carp were stocked in Louisiana fish ponds to clean them, but during a period of flooding they escaped into the Mississippi River. This ill-conceived idea combined with a century-old mistake has now endangered our nation's most precious natural resource.

We are not talking about common carp, which are eaten in many places. The creatures in question here are the silver and bighead carp. Even if they didn't taste terrible,

they have interlaced, "floating bones" that make them a nightmare to eat. While they are not good to eat, they are very good at eating. They can get up to 100 pounds in size and eat 40% of their body weight daily. The climate of the Great Lakes region is similar to their native Asian habitats and they would have no natural predators. They would simply out-eat and out-breed the others.

The fear is that the carp will transform the Great Lakes ecosystem into something unrecognizable. One need only look at infested sections of the Illinois River where environmental officials say that carp now comprise nine out of every 10 pounds of living material—plant or animal—found in the water. That’s 90% of the total biomass! "Sooner or later, those carp are going to find a breeding home" in Lake Michigan, said Joel Brammeier, acting president of the Alliance for the Great Lakes, a Chicago advocacy group. "And once that happens, there's going to be no stopping the Asian carp in the Great Lakes."

For the Great Lakes, already taxed by the invasion of other non-native species, it could be the last straw. "Once in the lakes, it would be very difficult to control them" say the Fish and Wildlife Service

One would think that the Great Lake States would unite on this issue, but Chicago business and political interests do not want to lose easy use of barges for shipping. So there's a fight. In an urgent effort to close down Chicago-area passages that could allow the unwanted fish to reach Lake Michigan, the State of Michigan is suing the State of Illinois. Minnesota, Ohio and Wisconsin have filed documents in recent days supporting Michigan’s move, and Indiana says it will soon do the same. But it may be too late. They shouldn't have waited until Asian carp came within striking distance before getting around to suing the very negligent and irresponsible state of Illinois.

“Officials need to put a cork in the connection between the Mississippi and the Great Lakes built more than a century ago. The end point clearly needs to be biological separation," said Marc Gaden, spokesman for the Great Lakes Fishery Commission in Ann Arbor, Mich., which focuses on protecting the lakes' fishing industry. “Commerce will find a way to move cargo. The commodities will still move. And move efficiently. Until we slam the door, this problem will not go away.”

We must separate the Mississippi River from the Great Lakes basin, as Mother Nature intended. But will it happen? Michigan had taken their suit directly to the Supreme Court, but, sadly, the court declined to consider the suit.

Please pass the word, blog about this, call the White House, or leave an email in the nice little comment form. It's easy and you'll feel good about it. Michigan's Attorney General, Mike Cox, has requested that President Obama use his executive powers to close the locks and wouldn't it be cool if the Whitehouse was inundated with demands that he do just that? Even if you don’t rely on the Great Lakes for your drinking water, or eat fish from them, swim in them or vacation on them, what happens to them will eventually affect you, like the flutter of a butterfly’s wing.