We can talk about water and public policy all we want. But no policy will be effective until we as citizens - individual by individual and family by family, begin to develop and exercise a RESPECT for this vital and limited resource.
In 1667 John Milton wrote Paradise Lost, an epic poem of theology and linguistic beauty. If Milton had been with us last week he might have been moved to author the sequel to his great work.
The eastern shoreline of Lake Michigan, from Grand Haven to the Mackinac Bridge, is some of the most spectacular country in America, and last week we were again blessed with a family vacation there. The Indians of the upper Midwest named the Lake "Missi-Ken", meaning in their lyrical language - large lake. And so they gave name to the Great Lake and to the State.
We spent our days there same way we have for the last several trips - sailing, biking, boogie-boarding, sand-dune climbing, kayaking, hiking, and camp-firing on the shore. Our morning entertainment consisted of bike rides to the Lake and to the artesian well to fill our containers for the day. Nocturnal entertainment consisted of huddling on the beach to watch the sunset over Lake Michigan. We marvelled as the sun plunged down the horizon like some great, incandescent eye, illuminating the sky with colors and shapes so lush as to shame the canvas of Raphael.
The Shawnee Chief Tecumseh was a great American, and sadly, too obscure a figure in our history. He grew up in the forests and on the river banks of what is now southern Ohio, and often tried to give verse to the feelings he had for the land he so loved. Despite his eloquence it always eluded him.
Like Tecumseh - all I can do is recall images and sensations: a bobcat darting across the trail of a deep woods hike, stopping briefly to freeze us with his penetrating gaze. Watching your children lay hands on the tiller of a sailboat, and just as you taught them, reading the sails as the mylar lufts and gropes for the wind, all while remembering the terrified shrieks of their first sail. Seeing them gaze at the towering Sleeping Bear Dunes as we cruise past, jaws agape and souls humbled by the sight. Watching the wind suddenly quicken as it gathers over the surface, and the mad scramble to reduce sail before it strikes the spinnaker and main like an invisible fist, heeling the boat to the gunnels. The soft-green and beige of the dune grasses as they gently yield to the caress of the breeze. The thigh-burning, lung-busting effort of ascending the mighty dunes, and the rollicking, limb-flailing descent, often hurtling twenty feet with a single leap. The taste of the artesian well water after a long run in the sun - sweeter than any ice-cold Gatorade. I could go on..............
Try as I might I cannot capture the essence of what this land and water hold for me. How does one encapsulate the memories of a lifetime - memories seared like a brand onto the skin of my consciousness?
Always - always I will hear Missi-Ken calling to me. The primordial sound of the surf in its ageless assault upon the shore, and the matching refrain of the water's retreat. The lonely, plaintive cry of the gulls as they lilt and bob above the surface, their calls mixing with the pound of the surf in a soul-piercing texture of sound.
Perhaps our son captured her essence best while perched atop the dunes one golden evening. Staring out at her vastness, I watched as its majesty laid hold of him and slowly quieted his spirit. And I could only nod my agreement as he murmured, "it's not a Lake, Dad - it's an ocean".
I love Lake Michigan. And my love for her has helped teach me to respect and conserve water.
Think about it.
Please.
