July 2023 - Love Our Great Lakes

A couple of weeks ago, the New York Times had an article proposing five alternative, less crowded national protected lands to consider in place of some of the most visited national parks. Their proposed substitution for Acadia National Park in Maine: Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore in Michigan.

Last summer we spent three days on Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. We rented an Airbnb in Marquette, a college town (home of Northern Michigan University), and a terrific base for a family vacation in the UP.

One day we drove 40 minutes east to Munising and took a 2.5 hour boat ride with Pictured Rocks Cruises and saw the lakeshore from the waters of Lake Superior. Written into federal law in 1966 and opened in 1972, Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore was the first National Lakeshore. It is named for the 15 miles of cliffs rising out of the lake but the full park is over 71,000 acres of land. If our girls had been older, we would have considered the spectacular option of seeing the lakeshore from a kayak; there are a number of companies that offer different types of paddling packages.

The lakeshore is nothing less than stunning. Sandstone cliffs display layer upon layer of geologic time while mineral seepage creates the multitude of colors that give the “pictured rocks” their name – red and orange from iron, green and blue from copper, black from manganese and white from limonite. The cliffs have been shaped over millions of years by land, water and wind resulting in varied formations – arches, caves and edges that look carved with specific force and intent.

There is one particular sandstone outcropping that has gathered attention for decades. It is known as Chapel Rock. The rock pillar has stood away from the mainland shore since 1940 when the natural rock bridge that once attached it collapsed. On top of the pillar there is a singular, steadfast pine tree standing proud. Get closer and you will see that the tree remains connected to the mainland by its root system. The sight has tremendous impact both visually and emotionally: The strength and endurance, but also fragility, of nature all bound up together.

On Thursday June 29th, we left Cleveland, bound for a long weekend in Northern Michigan to visit with friends and drop my older daughter off at summer camp near Traverse City. The day was one of several poor air quality days that we’ve had this summer in Northeast Ohio as the Canadian wildfire smoke made its way to our skies as well as those of millions of others. As we got in the car I paused for a minute wondering if I should dig our KN95 masks back out.

The drive was unsettling. My younger daughter described it as “foggy” but it wasn’t a wet, grey mist. It was a dry haze with an orange tint. It felt sinister. The smoky air persisted the whole route across I-90 in Ohio and then as we turned and headed north into and across Michigan.

white smoke wallpaper — Photo by Rafael Guajardo on Pexels.com

Luckily, the air quality improved on Friday and through the weekend, but we know that the smoke will return.

And while we’d all like to pretend otherwise, we’re all thinking the same thing: Will this be the new normal? Is this another dimension of our climate crisis that seems to be accelerating ever faster and faster?

Let’s just say it: It’s a dark thought, and it’s hard to sit with. But by saying it aloud, we acknowledge that this frightening challenge is part of our shared reality. And by recognizing it as such, maybe those of us who feel despair surrounding climate change can lessen our individualized emotions and know the burden is shared.

On Saturday morning we drove to Frankfort, on Lake Michigan. We headed for the public beach where children poured out of our cars and gleefully headed for the shoreline and sand play. Childhood joy was on display.

The air was much clearer, but there was still some smoke lingering. It was enough that, when looking out at the lake, that bright horizon line I often mention wasn’t bright. The horizon wasn’t actually visible much at all, just gradations of blue between water and sky.

What lay ahead in the distance was unseen and unknown.