My winter has not been very wintery. I’m an extreme case, where the colder the temperatures the happier I am, and the deeper the snow, the more blissed out I get. We’ve had some snow, but nothing jaw-dropping, not even enough to close schools, and the temps have been closer to mild than cold. This is highly unusual for Michigan, though seems to be inching toward more the norm than I want to admit. Still, I’m finding that without subzero temperatures and feet of snow I can trek out of doors with little preparation or need to alert others of my plans.
The lake levels are incredibly high, mind-blowingly high. Trees are toppling into the lake, the shoreline eroded by the crashing waves, climbing higher and higher and loosening the sandy dunes. Man-made structures like play equipment,roads, and entire houses are being swallowed. I hear so many express sadness at this evolution, but I am not sad – I am amazed, in awe, exhilarated.
My old familiar places are so changed that I spend a good amount of time driving back roads to various points along the shore, discovering new trails and access points through the dunes to the water, which now, in many places, sits many feet below a cliff drop off due to the waves carving a whole new shoreline. Entire beaches have been swallowed; where once many hundreds of people could plan to lay their towel to sunbathe, the water is now at the sidewalk, or the road – the beach entirely gone. It’s fascinating to me, the power of water.
I discover a whole tribe of kiteboarders – people out on the water, in the water, above the water, who ride the swells and wind despite the frigid temperatures. I find I am drawn to this sport and admire the exhilaration it must bring. When I’m away from the water, I find I think a lot about kite boarding and how I can prepare myself to try it, build my upper body strength, perhaps in the summer, take some lessons. I can feel the sheer joy in their shouts of triumph, and laugh out loud as I sit huddled on the shore with a blanket around me, watching them sail through the sky for long periods of time, keenly aware of how hard they must be working, each muscle engaged within their dry suits, all their senses alert and adrenaline pumping, while I am still, simply witnessing, my breath slowing as I draw inward.
Other days the lake is quiet, still, smooth as glass. It’s stillness is also mesmerizing, hypnotic in its own way, calming and peaceful. I hope to someday live close enough to the lake to experience her glory every day – to be there with her as she rises, crashes, and as she calms and stills again.
