The Gift of Water

as seen in the Marquette Monthly June, 2018
By Lynn Domina

I am not a native-born Yooper, which I suppose means I am not a Yooper at all. But I do try to compensate for the misfortunate geography of my birth, some miles below the Bridge, by adopting one Yooper characteristic. By mid-July, I’ll be immersing my body fully and frequently in our lake, chilly as it might be, and I’ll be astonished, as always, to be living so close to the largest body of fresh water in the world.

Actually, not all of this is true. Throughout July and August and September I do walk out into the lake, then dive under and float out toward the buoys. But I don’t do this for Yooper credibility. I enter the lake because water—the vision of it, the feel of it, the sound of it easing onto shore or crashing against rocks—is so welcoming. It’s soothing. And it’s so clear—from the surface I can see patterns that currents have made on its sandy bed. Resting in this water reminds me that my life’s purpose is not acquisition or achievement but appreciation and belonging.

Belonging. When I walk down Washington Street or wheel my cart through EconoFoods, it’s easy to remember that I’m part of a human community, people just as interested in coffee and pasta sauce as I am but probably quite different from me in other ways. When I walk around Presque Isle or kayak in Tourist Park or swim in the Lake, I remember that my human community is encompassed by the community of all creation. I want to remain mindful of that. Lake Superior’s temperature makes it impossible to forget where I am when I’m in it. When I feel the water’s pressure against my legs and arms, when I relax into its strength, I understand my own creatureliness much more consciously than I do when I’m simply striding through air. I recognize how we are all part of this vast thing we call creation. You, me, the lake, the sand, the gulls, the rocks, the dragonflies. I feel oddly reassured, realizing how small my own role is in the great scheme of time and space.

I gaze out at Lake Superior every day, and every day I am stunned by its expanse. Every day it’s different, shifting from Windsor blue to delft to nearly white. Some days its surface barely ripples, reflecting slight chevrons of light. Other days it heaves itself ashore, reminding us of its power. In late fall, I’ve noticed how its patchy ice sometimes captures the pattern of foam, and in early spring I wait for those days when planks of blue ice stack up near shore.

I wonder what kind of imagination could have conceived of all this. It’s one thing to imagine beauty into being. And it’s one thing to create something as apparently simple as water to be the source of all life. What I so appreciate about creation, though, is that this source of all life is also so beautiful. Water’s beauty compounds as so many beautiful and beautifully bizarre creatures—lion fish, mandarin fish, angel fish, coral, luminescent octopi, leafy seadragons—make water their home. And we ourselves, despite our deceptively solid bodies, make a home for water. When I read that more than 70% of my heart and more than 80% of my lungs consists of water, it’s no wonder, I think, that I feel so at home in it.

That’s a spiritual task for each of us, I think, to learn how to be at home in the world, and to treat the world as home. Surrounding myself with water is one of my most helpful practices. It reminds me that this vast beautiful world does not revolve absolutely around me, yet it also confirms that I, like all of us, belong in it.

My family and I have lived in Marquette for only about three years. Whenever we’re coming home, whether it’s from visiting our relatives in lower Michigan, or returning from Sawyer airport after longer trips, or even just from driving out to Lowe’s, we get our first glimpse of Lake Superior out along US-41, and we say, “There’s our lake.” Our lake. I’m astonished. I’m awe-struck. I hope I always will be.

WATER SAVER TIPS

When you use water, remember to bless all of those creatures who call it home, and remember to bless your own body for all of the water it contains.

You’ve probably read about the Great Pacific Garbage Patch, consisting largely of plastic, or about microscopic bits of plastic found even in Arctic ice. One of the most effective ways to reduce water pollution is to reduce your reliance on plastic. Choose biodegradable containers and packaging instead.

Contributor’s note: Lynn Domina is a poet and scholar currently serving as Head of the English Department at Northern Michigan University.

“The Gift of Water” columns are offered by the Northern Great Lakes Water Stewards and the Cedar Tree Institute, joined in an interfaith effort to help preserve, protect, and sanctify the waters of the Upper Peninsula.