Superior Blessings
as seen in the Marquette Monthly January, 2020
By Deb Pascoe
There are a lot of rocks in my house. If you come over for a visit, you’ll see them. Rocks in baskets, rocks along the kitchen windowsill, clusters of rocks on the living room tables. Some are black and silky smooth; some are dappled gray and blue; most of them sparkle in the light. The majority of them were collected from the shores of Lake Superior. I brought home the lion’s share of them. Others are gifts, mostly from my three children when they were younger; some, more recently, from my 6-year-old grandson.
I also have several jars and vases filled with beach glass—green, brown, white, and the odd, rare blue piece, their sharp edges washed smooth, again, mostly collected by me. Others were dropped into my hands from the damp, sandy hands of small children, proudly presenting their gifts to mom/grandma. I can’t tell you the backstory of every rock and bit of glass I own, but each one matters to me. They’re a symbol of Superior, the place where I find serenity, beauty, and a treasure trove of memories.
There was that white-hot summer day twenty-some years ago. I sat on a beach towel on the sand with my girlfriend, watching my son and two daughters and her two girls slop around in the mud along the lakeshore. The older three waded into the chilly water, happily splashing and shrieking. My younger daughter, 2 years old, was too young to follow—I said “No” firmly when she gave me a pleading stare. But the big kids were having too much fun out there, so she made her move, scrambling to her feet and trotting into the water, undaunted by the chilly waves. She was up to her waist by the time I got to her. Before I could grab her, she stumbled, crashing face-down into the lake.
I pull her up by her bathing suit straps and staggered back to the beach with my armful of sodden toddler. Shaken, I wrapped her in a towel, rubbing her wispy curls dry. My little girl sits quietly in my lap, her expression solemn. She’s frightened, I think, holding her tightly. When she’s dry and warm, except for her damp, sandy swimsuit, my little girl gets up and heads back to the cluster of pails and shovels she’d abandoned at the water’s edge. But she doesn’t stop there. She’s had a taste of the big lake, and she wants more. Seconds later she’s up to her knees in the water and I’m sprinting across the sand again, laughing this time, admiring the spirit of my fearless, adventurous girl.
It’s seven or maybe eight years later, another summer day. My husband, a carpenter, is working on a remodel at a house with Lake Superior in its backyard. The kids and I wait for him along the beach, admiring the high waves rolling in, chased by a hot summer wind. When he finishes his work and joins us, we all wade into the water, happily surprised by its unusual warmth. He tosses the kids gently into the waves, and they laugh and beg to be thrown in again. It’s a perfect family moment, a wonderful moment in a family that’s had more struggles than joys. So many of our happy family memories are beach days. Whatever is painful or difficult is magically, temporarily, lost in the pleasures of sun, wind, and water.
Fast-forward to the present. I live in a home I bought for myself, located a 15-minute walk away from Lake Superior. Much has changed. My children are adults, of course, and I am a grandmother. I live alone, with my rocks, my beach glass, two dogs, and a cat. Life is less challenging, and it’s filled with blessings I never saw coming. Lake Superior still gifts me with serenity, with beauty, with water-washed treasures. And memories, so many water-washed, treasured memories.
WATER-SAVING TIPS
When washing dishes by hand, don’t leave the water running for rinsing. Wash a batch, then rinse with your sprayer.
Collect the water you run while waiting for it to get hot, then save it to water plants.
Contributor’s note: Deb Pascoe lives in Marquette.
“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.
