Sunday, May 19th. It’s a stunning morning in Cleveland – sunny and clear, in the high 60s. I wake both of the girls and we head to a beach clean-up on Lake Erie. The offer of a bagel and orange juice helps motivate them into the car.

Driving to Euclid Beach, a couple miles east of downtown Cleveland, we pass through some of Cleveland’s neighborhoods scarred by poverty and disinvestment. The girls want to know why some of the houses are “breaking down” and why so many stores are boarded up. We talk about why this might be. We see people waiting for buses and talk about the importance of public transportation, and the challenges that many people face to simply get to their jobs or to care for themselves or family.

We drive on a bridge that takes us over a significant corridor of train tracks. We talk about what these railways might have been like in the 1930s and 40s when Cleveland’s economy and population were booming. We talk about what still travels on the railways in and out of this city and the Great Lakes region. 

We sit at a stoplight by Collinwood High School and talk about what a school means to a community, and how beautiful this massive building is. We think about how many people have attended the school in exactly the century since it opened its doors in 1924. 

At the park, it’s quiet. A few morning joggers and walkers. Some men in reflective yellow vests working on parking lot repairs. Birds calling overhead. The lake stretching out to a barely perceptible horizon.

Cleveland Metroparks staff give us an orange Home Depot bucket and two pickers. We’ve brought our own gardening gloves. As we descend to the sand, we talk about the fact that we are here to pick-up litter – large or small. Yes, it feels like a “win” to find a plastic bag, a broken down Starbucks cup or the remnants of a paper plate. The visibility factor is high. But I tell the girls it is also a contribution to pick-up a cigar tip, a fragment of blue plastic, or a piece of a red straw. 

That red straw? Highly attractive to a fish. Probably more so than the Starbucks cup. What if the fish eats it? Perhaps that fish dies. Perhaps that fish is caught by a recreational or commercial fisherman, moving plastic particles into the human realm. Perhaps that fish is eaten by another fish, moving plastic particles further in the lake’s ecosystem.

We make our way down the beach. We see a baby bunny near the tall grasses at the back of the sandline. We say hello to another person on the beach. The girls putter at the shoreline. The water is so clear! they say. We talk about holding two truths at the same time: This clarity is both good and bad. They ask why there are a few sediments that seem to float. I’m not completely sure, I say. Maybe we can learn more.

Eventually we get to the end of the beach, circle back along the multipurpose trail above the beach, add our litter to a small dumpster, and return our bucket and pickers.

Picking up litter on a Lake Erie beach for two hours is not going to solve the problem of plastic pollution in the Great Lakes. However, it is something else: It’s an intentional act that may have greater impact than initially imagined. 

What’s a beach clean-up really about? For me, it’s about two things: place and purpose. It’s about situating ourselves in our community and in our natural world and understanding what we each mean to each other.

A third P – pollution – sits in third place. Still part of the winner’s circle. But for me, it’s not the gold or silver one.

Read more

When I tell people about my Great Lakes interest and engagement of the past three years, one of the things I say is that the Great Lakes have been a meaningful anchor for our family as well. It’s been a theme that winds through the year. It’s there all the time, but it’s never more present than in the beautiful summer months in this region.

I have been a long-time listener of the writer Gretchen Rubin’s podcast called Happier. In the podcast she shares and discusses a variety of topics related to happiness. One of the strategies that she has shared a number of times over the years is to “design your summer”. This means: embrace the different cadence of the months and make a plan for the things you want to do to maximize the season. I’ve thought about summers this way for about seven years now, and when fall arrives, I am happy that I was intentional with my time.

With that in mind, here are my Great Lakes intentions for Summer 2024:

#1 Beach Clean-up at Euclid Beach in May: I am a volunteer with the Cleveland Metroparks, and beach clean-ups are one of the many options available for volunteer hours. I love spending 2-hours on a weekend morning this way. The beach and parks are usually quiet, you can listen to music or a podcast and walk the beach or beach adjacent areas and pick-up large and small litter, preventing it from getting washed out into the lake.

#2 Visit Presque Isle State Park, PA over Memorial Day weekend: About a 90 minute drive, this will be an easy day trip for us that we have penciled in for the Sunday of the holiday weekend. Presque Isle State Park is a peninsula that juts out into Lake Erie a couple miles west of Erie, PA. Much of it is sandy beach, but it also has walking trails. We’ll start our visit at the Tom Ridge Environmental Center to learn more. Hopefully the weather will be good and we can pack lunch and head to explore and putter. “Park puttering” is one of my favorite frames for family time. We will hopefully walk some trails, but we might also poke around, hang around..  putter.

#3 Run 4 Miles 4 Water with Drink Local Drink Tap in June: Drink Local Drink Tap is a wonderful non-profit in Cleveland with a mission of solving global water equity through education, advocacy, and community-centered water, sanitation and hygiene projects. Their work engages and educates on water issues at both a local and global level. I will participate in one of their hallmark events that takes place in downtown Cleveland.  

woman lacing up her gray and pink nike low top athletic shoe
Photo by Tirachard Kumtanom on Pexels.com

#4 Watch a sunset at the Solstice Steps in Lakewood, OH in July: Lakewood City Park, a couple of miles from downtown Cleveland to the west, is one of my favorite local outings. My girls have always loved the large playground and I love the lakefront location and views. In 2015 the park opened the Solstice Steps, essentially stone bleachers built into a curving hillside at the park. They offer a fantastic view of the lake, especially looking westward. 

#5 Visit a Chicago-area beach over Labor Day weekend: We will be in Chicago over Labor Day weekend for a family event. There will be some time at the margins, and I will hope we can squeeze in a visit to a beach. As I wrote in a previous post about Lake Michigan, in the summer, Chicago really is a beach town.

#6 Visit Lake Erie Bluffs in September: Late August and September are beautiful months here. Many wildflowers and late summer flowers are in bloom. Temperatures are warm but usually not desperately hot. It will be a great time to head to one of my favorite places on Lake Erie, Lake Erie Bluffs park (introduced in my last post). 

I’m sure that some of these activities will provide content for future posts. I will report back! 

And how about you? Do you have a few things in mind you’d like to do this summer? Especially if they are Great Lakes related, but even if not, reach out and let me know what your intentions are. Perhaps taking a moment to share will feel like a gentle accountability mechanism to get them down on the calendar so that when fall comes, a few specific events will make the summer more vivid and memorable.  

summer letter cube on soil
Photo by Ylanite Koppens on Pexels.com
Read more

This post is dedicated to my 10-year CLE-anniversary, which is this week on May 2, 2024. 

On May 2, 2014, my husband and I drove my then 16-month old daughter from Brooklyn to Cleveland to start a new life chapter. We took with us a decade of New York City memories. I had accepted a job that required me to start two months earlier than we had planned to move. My husband dropped my daughter and I and the car off with his parents and then flew back to NYC to finish his job commitment before joining us on July 1.

I have two memories from my early months in Cleveland when I distinctly remember thinking, I can be happy here. One was taking my daughter to the Cleveland Museum of Natural History. After our visit, she was running around in Wade Oval, an open expanse of grass and trees in the middle of University Circle, a hub of cultural institutions in Cleveland – the Natural History Museum, the Cleveland Museum of Art, the Botanical Gardens, and the Case Western Reserve University campus among others. There was sun, and deeply green early summer grass.  She was romping and falling and investigating as all toddlers do. It felt good, and right, and promising.

The other memory is driving out to Lake Erie Bluffs, a park about 30 miles east of Cleveland in Lake County.

The park offers several different ways to experience Lake Erie. There is a gravel trail sitting atop the bluffs, running at a height above the shoreline that is best for a meandering walk, not a rigorous one. It’s an opportunity to feel breezes and look out over the water. Perhaps notice the different colors of the lake. Perhaps just listen to the water’s movement that day.

At one end of the trail is a 50-foot tall coastal observation tower. At the top you can look out over Lake Erie. Looking east, downtown Cleveland is visible in the distance. Looking south, you can see acres of marshland abutting the park. Looking north is nothing by the expanse of Lake Erie. 

Near the observation tower is a trail down to the water and 9,000 feet of shoreline. The beach can be of varying width depending on the lake levels, which change yearly and sometimes seasonally. My girls love puttering around on this strip of sand, rocks, branches and driftwood. 

It’s hard for me to believe, but I now have pictures from Lake Erie Bluffs over the span of a decade. An early visit in 2015 when we were just a family of three. A “date” with my older daughter in 2018 when she was still adjusting to life after her younger sister was born in 2017. A visit as a family during the pandemic lockdown months of 2020. A visit alone in September 2022 that I referenced in my prior blog post about walking along the water. A “date” with my younger daughter in 2023 while her older sister was away at sleepaway camp.

Of course, so many things have happened, and changed, and grown, and evolved in the ten years of our life since May 2014. And there are things that have moved, and shifted, and eroded, and appeared at the park in that time. But the place is still there. The lake is still there. That feels good, and right, and promising. 

Older daughter, 2015
Older daughter, 2018
The girls, 2020
Younger daughter, 2023
Read more

I think that if many people were asked “Is Detroit a Great Lakes city?” their response would be a confident “Yes!”. But if then asked, “What Great Lake is it on?”, confidence in their answer might wane. In fact, if their familiarity with the region or mental geography is limited, they may become stumped. Because the answer is that Detroit is not on one of the Great Lakes. But it does sit on water that is part of the Great Lakes system (remember – the largest freshwater system on earth!).

We’re moving on today from Lake Huron-Lake Michigan (remember – technically one body of water!), to Lake Erie. But we’re making a stop along the way in Detroit on the banks of the Detroit River, a 28 mile straight ushering water south and west to the mouth of Lake Erie. The water is flowing at origin from Lake Huron, down the St. Clair River and into Lake St. Clair and then into the Detroit River.

wide angle photography of city near body of water
Photo by Anon on Pexels.com

The Detroit River is a significant stretch of international border between the United States and Canada. There are currently two automobile crossings, the Ambassador Bridge and the Detroit-Windsor Tunnel, managed by border agencies on both sides. More than 40,000 people cross the border each day.

In the early part of the 20th century, the Detroit River was one of the busiest commercial waterways on earth with the rise of the auto industry in Detroit. In 1907 the river moved 67 million tons of shipping commerce out to destinations around the world. By comparison, New York City moved about 20 million tons that year. 

But decades before automobiles were built and started crossing the Detroit River, it was a different crossing. It was a  final stop for many routes on the Underground Railroad. Code name “Midnight”, Detroit was the most active entry point along the US-Canada border for enslaved people escaping to freedom.

There were several reasons for this:

  1. Slavery was outlawed in Michigan, and by the 1830s Detroit had developed an established Black population, some of whom courageously accepted the profound risks of assisting enslaved people;
  2. By 1833 Canada had declared that enslaved people could not be extradited to be returned to their owners and granted legal immigration status to Blacks, making it the closest thing possible to freedom; 
  3. The river is relatively narrow and shallow, making it navigable by even smaller boats, although winter months would have been a perilous trip.

Second Baptist Church of Detroit and the First Baptist Church of Amherstburg on the Canadian side of the river coordinated many of the crossings. The basement of the Second Baptist Church was likely the last place in America that some enslaved people spent time before leaving for Canada. You can arrange for a tour of the church. Across the river, 30 minutes south of Windsor, is the Amherstburg Freedom Museum which consists of a church and a log cabin built by people who escaped slavery via the underground railroad.

The last steps to freedom for many people were actually a distance covered on the waters of the Great Lakes.    

white and brown bird near body of water under blue sky at daytime
Photo by Sindre Fs on Pexels.com
Read more

As a native of the Washington, DC area and relative urban and suburban life, until recently, my depth of familiarity with maritime life, resources and economies was truly slim. I will be honest in having a hazy understanding of the word fishery, hatchery, or what was meant when mentioning the work of fish management. While my knowledge is still not deep, I have learned much more through my Great Lakes exploration of the past three years.

Here is the mission of the Fish and Aquatic Conservation program of the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service: We are committed to tackling the nation’s highest priority aquatic conservation and recreational challenges to conserve, restore, and enhance fisheries for future generations.

My lack of clarity around the word fishery is actually understandable. The word is used in a number of different, and sometimes inconsistent, ways. According to Wikipedia, Fishery can mean either the enterprise of raising or harvesting fish and other aquatic life or, more commonly, the site where such enterprise takes place (a.k.a., fishing grounds). Commercial fisheries include wild fisheries and fish farms, both in freshwater water bodies (about 10% of all catch) and the oceans (about 90%).

Last post I shared about the infamous, massive alewife die-off of 1967 in Lake Michigan waters and shores. I ended with the question: What did they do about it?

In this case the “they” ends up being the Michigan Department of Conservation. And what they did was initiate one of the largest bioengineering endeavors of all time. States around the Great Lakes agreed to introduce coho and Chinook salmon from the Pacific Ocean into the lakes to bring the alewife population under control. It was a successful effort to redesign the Great Lakes fishery. Alewives were back to more controlled numbers by 1971.

person holding raw fish
Photo by cottonbro studio on Pexels.com

Introducing salmon was the brainchild of Dr. Howard Tanner. In The Life and Death of the Great Lakes, Dan Egan writes a riveting chapter about Tanner – his environmental management expertise, his love for Michigan and the Great Lakes, his vision, and his streak of independent decision-making fostered by his time as a soldier in World War II.

As head of the Michigan Department of Conservation, he led the effort to introduce salmon in 1966. Biologists had already recognized the overpopulation of alewives by that time. Just one year later, by the fall of 1967, millions of salmon offspring appeared in Lake Michigan. The salmon grew large and heavy on the alewife diet. It created a frenzy of recreational fishing. Egan describes it memorably: “It was as if all the skiers in Michigan awoke one morning to find that their little hills had been replaced by the Rocky Mountains.” Recreational fishermen who had dreamed of one day fishing out West for salmon literally found them leaping out of the waters of Lake Michigan. Word spread of “coho fever”. Beyond successfully controlling the alewife population, the effort created a recreational boom in sport fishing and a new constituency of people invested in the Great Lakes. 

photo of man fishing
Photo by William McAllister on Pexels.com

The Great Lakes have been known as a world class salmon fishery ever since. However, some danger signs have been flashing over the past thirty years. Nature constantly brings our attention back to cycles and interconnectedness – and sometimes seems to enjoy a little irony on the side. The alewife population is now dwindling.  And in dwindling, it may take the salmon with it given that they rely almost exclusively on alewives as their diet. That much despised little silver fish has been revisited, recognized, and respected for its role in the Great Lakes fishery.

Read more

In early July 2022 we drove to Northern Michigan to drop our older daughter off at summer camp for two weeks. For the weekend we stayed at a house about 25 miles east of Ludington. My husband and I drove up into Ludington State Park on the shores of Lake Michigan. As we drove in, gorgeous white sand dunes lined the road. It was early evening, so a transition time with beachgoers emerging from trails through the dunes, colorful umbrellas, chairs and towels in hand, headed back to their cars.

Ludington State Park (MI), Lake Michigan, July 2022

We parked and got out of the car to walk out on the beach. We were immediately greeted by what I can only describe as, frankly, a strong, unpleasant odor. Putrid is too strong a word, but it was fishy, and rotten. We walked over a dune path and emerged on the beach. The view was incredibly picturesque – gorgeous wide white sand beach and cottonball clouds. But a quick stroll closer to the water revealed the source of the smell – there was a band of dead, washed up small, silver fish stretching down the beach in both directions.  

These fish are alewives, and wash-up like this is, somewhat unfortunately, not an uncommon occurrence on the shores of some Great Lakes. The history of the issue is well-explained in Dan Egan’s book The Death and Life of the Great Lakes that I refer to time and time again. It’s a story of ecological imbalance.

River herring are a species well known to east coast North Americans for centuries. They hatch in the rivers flowing into the Atlantic and then head into saltwater for much of their life before heading back to the freshwater to spawn. 

River herring were first found in Lake Ontario in the late 1800s. It’s unknown how they got there – whether they made their way on their own through the St. Lawrence River or accessed it through the canals dug at the end of that century. For several decades they lived in some ecological balance as the Atlantic salmon and lake trout were natural predators. But once the evolving commercial fishing industry ramped up and overfishing of salmon and trout became an issue, the river herring became massively overpopulated. By 1931 they had been found in Lake Erie and by 1954 in the waters of all Great Lakes. 

The Great Lakes river herring quickly evolved to be a smaller, toothless version of the East Coast river herring. They lacked natural predators, and quickly came to dominate the fish mass of the lakes, especially Lake Michigan, where by 1965 they were likely 90 percent of the lake’s fish mass. By this point they had also come to take on another name – alewives. 

My dad was living in Chicago in the summer of 1967 when the city experienced the most infamous alewife happening of all time. There was essentially a massive die-off of alewives that dumped billions of fish carcasses on the shores of Lake Michigan around Chicago. 30 miles of shoreline were “smothered”, as Egan writes, by piles of decaying fish sometimes shin deep. The cost of management and clean-up in Chicago was pegged at $50 million – $350 million in 2017 dollars. The price tag across the entire summer and all the shores impacted: close to $1 billion in 2017 dollars. 

To most people, the die off was seen, and smelled, along the shore. However, in the water, there were reports of piles of carcasses at the bottom of the lake over 6 feet high and live schools of the fish were so thick that boaters described running into one being like running into a snowbank.

What happened?  

The reason turns out to be to be biological maladaptation. The fact that the alewives, originally saltwater fish, were able to live in the freshwaters of the Great Lakes didn’t mean that they were able to thrive. Their bodies simply didn’t work well due to the lack of salt. They experienced kidney stress, stunted thyroid activity, and an inability to handle the dramatic water temperature changes the Great Lakes can experience. But their mere survival had thrown Lake Michigan completely off-balance with no real predators to keep the population in check.

So what did they do about it? Stay tuned for Part 2 of the story in my next post. 

Photo from Whiting Robertsdale Historical Society

Read more

Perhaps because it is the only Great Lake with all of its shoreline in the United States, Lake Michigan seems to hold a special place in many hearts and minds. 

There are lots of impressive stats to share. Lake Michigan is the second largest Great Lake by volume and the third largest by surface area. It has the world’s largest collection of freshwater sand dunes. Area surrounding the lake is home to over 12 million people, including Chicago, the largest city on the Great Lakes.

Indiana Dunes National Park from Conde Nast

The word “Michigan” is believed to derive from indigenous words meaning “great water” or “big lake”. These include “mishigamaa” or “mishigamaw” in Algonquin “meicigama” in Chippewa and “mishigami” in Ojibwa.

A road trip around Lake Michigan would offer almost too many fantastic stops to list. This itinerary from the roadtrippers site starts in Milwaukee and then heads north towards Door County, Wisconsin, “the Cape Cod of the Midwest”. 

Heading north from Wisconsin leads into Michigan’s Upper Peninsula (UP), which you know I love for its wildness, quirkiness and solitude (and Joe Pera!). After driving eastward on the UP, the route drops you back into Michigan’s Mitten via the Mackinac Bridge.

the straits of mackinac under the mackinac bridge
Photo by Christopher Delcamp on Pexels.com

The route from there takes you south through beautiful shoreline and quaint, picturesque towns – Charlevoix, Petoskey, Traverse City, and Sleeping Bear Dunes area before landing down on Michigan’s weekend escape towns like South Haven and Saugatuck. Westerly winds blow surface water to the east, making the water on these east coast destinations on the lake warmer in summer months.

At the southern end of the lake one finds a relatively unknown gem – the 45 miles of Indiana’s Lake Mighigan shoreline, which includes Indiana Dunes National Park

From there, the route will take you up into Chicago. When one thinks of Chicago, the sprawling built city comes to mind. And maybe deep dish pizza or hot dogs? But make no mistake – the city is inextricably connected with Lake Michigan. In the warmer weather, it really is a beach town with crowds of people at Oak Street Beach, Rainbow Beach and Park and North Avenue Beach. All year round, you can walk and bike miles along Lake Shore Drive or visit Navy Pier’s myriad attractions, food and programs.

photo of city buildings near river
Photo by Amit Thakral on Pexels.com

I would venture to guess that many of you have spent time on Lake Michigan. If you have a favorite memory or place or a hidden gem, I’d love to hear about it! Reply to my newsletter or drop me a message through the website!

Read more

We’re going to continue on our tour of the Great Lakes, moving from Lake Huron to its partner, Lake Michigan. As I’ve shared before, Huron and Michigan are really one body of water, joined at the Straits of Mackinac. 

Southwest from the Straits lie a chain of islands. The two most prominent islands are North and South Manitou. The islands are part of Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore and can be seen from the mainland – two distinct humps rising out of the water in close proximity to each other. 

There is a ferry from Leland that will take visitors to both islands. South Manitou is the smaller island (8 square miles) and attracts day visitors with a small museum, lighthouse, and old Coast Guard station, and a wagon tour out to the site of a shipwreck. North Manitou is much larger (22 square miles) and, other than a small village where the ferry docks, is managed as a wilderness area. Visitors come for solitude, hiking and camping. Neither island has food or medical services. 

On our visit to Sleeping Bear Dunes in 2019 I bought a children’s book at the National Park Service Visitor’s Center called The Legend of Sleeping Bear by Kathy-jo Wargin, illustrated by Gijsbert van Frankenhuyzen. It has a subtitle “Michigan’s Official Children’s Book”. Given this designation, I was underprepared for the story told but probably should have been tipped off by the dedication: For all mothers, whose love and dedication will be rewarded.

A synopsis of the legend, an Anishinaabe story of a sacred place: Long ago, across the inland sea that is now Lake Michigan, in the forests of what is now Wisconsin, lived Mother Bear and her two cubs. They lived happily along a stream. Sometimes Mother Bear would take her cubs to the shores of the lake and gaze out on its endless horizon.

One day there was a thunderstorm and lightning struck a tree and started a forest fire. Mother Bear and her cubs ran to the lakeshore. They had no choice but to leap into the lake and start a swim across to the other side. The cubs promised Mother Bear they would swim with all their might all through the night. Mother Bear kept checking to make sure her cubs were not far behind her. But by morning, as she saw the sun coming up, she no longer saw her cubs. Mother Bear made it to the sandy shores of the lake, surrounded by dunes. She was exhausted. But she paced up and down the shoreline, calling to her cubs. Eventually she climbed to the top of the highest dune and sat, watching and waiting for her cubs.

She waited as the seasons changed. She waited through the winter. Eventually Mother Bear fell into a deep slumber of sorrow, blanketed by sand. The great spirit of the land felt her sadness, her dedication, and her love. And so the spirit raised the cubs from the water and made them two islands, close together and within view of Mother Bear. They are North and South Manitou Islands, resting eternally near their mother.

Welp. Oh man. You can be sure I was wiping away tears when I read the book. But this story of a mother’s love is deeply touching and adds further life and meaning to this special region on Lake Michigan. The bears’ resting place brings awe, joy and peace to visitors year after year. 

Read more

We’re going to pause from our Great Lakes tour for a post or two. Right after the new year, a number of you sent me this article from the Washington Post – or others on the same topic. The Great Lakes were in the news.

person wearing orange jacket

January 1st, 2024 recorded the smallest amount of ice cover over the Great Lakes in the past 50 years. Only 0.35% of the lakes’ surface area was under ice. The lakes average 9% for New Year’s Day. There is clear evidence of a downward trend likely due to climate change. Between 1973 and 2017, the lakes recorded as many as 46 fewer days per season frozen, which is defined as days when at least 5% of the lakes’ surface had ice cover.

There is variability year to year – 2019 was one of the highest ice coverage years on record (81% coverage at one point!), and things can also change through a season. Highest ice coverage is usually seen in February and early March.  

Why does this matter? The National Atmospheric and Oceanic Administration (NOAA) has provided a helpful answer.

There are several challenges to note. Thick ice protects the shoreline from erosion and flooding during winter storms. Animal patterns are disrupted, including those of fish who use ice for protection during their spawning season. Some areas of the Great Lakes have developed winter recreational seasons for things like ice fishing that depend on ice coverage.

But one of the main impacts of this shift for those living in the region is an increase in the well-known lake effect snow phenomenon. Lake effect snow occurs when cold air, often a front from Canada, sweeps across the relatively warmer waters of the Great Lakes. As it moves, warmth and moisture from the lake water rises into the lowest portion of the atmosphere. Because it is warmer and less dense than the cold air, it rises and creates clouds and snow.

Unfrozen lake is a prerequisite for lake effect snow. So, with less ice coverage at the start of January, the region was ripe for the impacts of lake effect snow, and we saw it in the middle of the month when a frigid front came through and we saw substantial snowfall.

For those of us living in the region, there is high variability with how lake effect snow is experienced. It can sometimes bring a light, innocuous, low density snow. But it can also bring strong bands of dense snow that can appear quickly, at times causing dangerous conditions for driving. Climate change and warmer temperatures will likely exacerbate the extremes causing punishing snows like those Buffalo experienced in the closing days of 2022 when between 50 and 77 inches of snow fell around the region.

In sum, climate change is driving a deep irony for the Great Lakes region. Warmer temperatures are moderating the climate overall, but increasing some of the most extreme winter weather that drives stereotypes and boastful declarations about the superior liveability of places like Florida and the Sunbelt. I encourage you to think critically about this sentiment though. Winters here can have some extremes but summers there have some extremes – and in some places dwindling access to freshwater. There is nowhere to escape our warming planet. We all have burdens to bear in the short and long-term. 

And, as I shared in one of my earliest posts about retreating from life on Lake Erie in the winter of 2021, the snow and ice can be mighty beautiful.   

Read more

Manitoulin Island in northern Lake Huron is the largest freshwater island in the world at 2,766 square feet. It is large enough to have over 100 freshwater lakes and multiple rivers itself.    

Manitoulin Island is also the home of an incredible young activist named Autumn Peltier. I was introduced to Autumn in the beautiful picture book Autumn Peltier, Water Warrior, written by Carole Lindstrom with illustrations by Bridget George. 

Autumn is Anishinaabe and an Indigenous Water Protector from Wiikwemkoong First Nation on Manitoulin Island. The rapid evolution of her activism is nothing short of remarkable and Autumn has been nominated several times for the International Children’s Peace Prize, including being a finalist in 2022. 

2012 at eight years old: Autumn learned that many First Nations in Ontario often live on short or long-term boil-water advisories and began speaking out about this in her own community. 

2016 at 12 years old: At the Assembly of First Nations in front of thousands of people, Autumn pointedly asked questions of Prime Minister Justin Trudeau about water protection and told him he is not doing enough on the issue.

2018: Autumn addressed the United Nations General Assembly in New York City on the topic of clean water access.

2019, at the age of 14: Autumn was appointed Chief Water Commissioner for the Anishinaabek Nation. She meets with leaders of Tribal Nations and speaks nationally and internationally about Indigenous and water rights. Her voice and messages are often directly about the waters that flow in and out of the Great Lakes.

Autumn is the great-niece of the late Josephine Mandamin, an internationally recognized water and Indigenous rights activity. She was widely acknowledged as the leader of the Water Walk movement. Josephine co-founded the Mother Earth Water Walkers in 2003. The Mother Earth Water Walkers is comprised of women from different clans of the Anishinaabe who work to bring attention to water crises in their own communities and others around the world. They do this by walking the perimeter of the Great Lakes. The first Water Walk was in 2003 when the group walked 2,726 miles around Lake Superior. They carried a copper pail filled with lake water. Over the next 14 years, there were thirteen Water Walks, covering a distance of over 15,000 miles to bring attention to the issue of clean water. 

If one thing stands out in Autumn Peltier, Water Warrior, it is the voice of women and girls. To the Anishinaabe, speaking for the water is a matriarchal act. There is something that seems so right and also deeply ironic about this. Around the globe, it is often women and girls who bear the burden of accessing clean water.  In communities without easy access, women and girls may literally spend their days walking miles to and from sources of water for drinking, cooking and sanitation needs. Here’s hoping that Autumn and other young climate and environmental activists inspire all sorts of people from across the globe to take action.       

In our culture, we look at water as a living being, and we’re taught to treat it with the same respect we would show another human. Water is the lifeblood of Mother Earth. It gives all life, and there is no life without it. Autumn Peltier, Foreword to Autumn Peltier, Water Warrior

water drop photo
Read more