I am this water.
Photo by Peter Wuebker
From any approach, there is a heart-stopping moment when Lake Superior reveals herself in full. It never fails to take my breath away.
The longer I am away from Big Water, the more there is that feels amiss in my life. I have lived close to the Pacific Ocean, and near other Great Lakes. But there is nothing else like this for me.
I love Lake Superior. I love her like a mother.
Photo by Peter Wuebker
With Superior I am a child who needs to gaze upon the face of its parent and be enfolded in her embrace. I need her to be near. I want to hear her musical voice, whether in the whisper of waves lapping gently on her shores or in the crashing of her surf. I must walk beside her and return to her. I know all these things about myself, yet the more I know of her, the more I realize there is to be revealed.
Photo by Peter Wuebker
She shows herself to me, this inland ocean, in hue and action, in air and stillness. Her horizon is so vast as to melt into the sky. I am humbled by her strength, and marvel at her violence. She cloaks herself in mystery and secretive enigma, drawing me in further.
Davina Haisell writes:
When I saw Lake Superior for the first time, I felt like I was hypnotized. Dad pulled off of the highway so we could watch it. It felt like that lake was looking deep into me, you know? Like it was looking through me or drinking from me. I imagined it knew we were there and that it was watching us.
I stalk others who speak of knowing her. I yearn to be first with her, and I tell myself I am. I recognize their thoughts and descriptions exactly as I know her, and I congratulate myself, as I love her so much she must love me more. They can’t be as important to her as I, her favorite child.
Photo by Peter Wuebker
On this last visit, I find myself where the voyageurs – strong coureurs des bois (runners of the woods) – gathered long ago to trade. We have visited the encampment at the Grand Portage National Monument which commemorates their long journey to the shores at Kitchi Onigaming, the “Great Carrying Place.” It is here that they would rendezvous with North West Fur Company traders who had paddled to meet them all the way from Montreal more than three hundred years ago.
Photo by Peter Wuebker
The Grand Portage Band celebrates the Rendezvous with a pow wow honoring their veteran warriors. They have welcomed us in the past and we were grateful to have been taken to the holy site of the Little Spirit Cedar, which grows from rock overlooking Gitchee Gumee. Offerings from the Ojibwe have been left at the base of this tree for hundreds of years to ensure safe travels.
Photo by Betsy Wuebker
I gaze eastward from a Grand Portage overlook. Pete is busy packing up our campsite, but I am not done with my other beloved, Lake Superior. I am high enough that weather patterns alternately reveal and obscure the lighthouse on the northwest point of Isle Royale, over twenty miles away. It is an infinitesimal pinpoint of white on the horizon where water meets the sky.
The overlook is windy and deserted. As I lean against the fence separating me from hundreds of feet of air, I am buffeted and sprinkled with rain in a kind of baptism. The clouds move quickly across my field of vision, and I see sheets of harder rain on the horizon.
Another car pulls up and a man gets out. We are the only two people here. He joins me at the fence and nods in silent acknowledgment. “It is beautiful,” he says softly. “Yes,” I say.
“Have you been to the Rendezvous?” I ask. He nods. “Yes, I have just come from the pow wow.” “It’s a wonderful thing to see,” I say. He nods again. “I come every year,” he tells me. “I am Anishinaabe, from Ponemah.” He looks out at the water. “I have been with with my brothers and sisters by the water. I come here to dance.”
I must have looked confused, because he explains to me that some Ojibwe have taken to identifying themselves with the more ancient name of the People. I tell him about the People’s museum in Leelanau, and he looks surprised and pleased.
Photo by Betsy Wuebker
We stand in silence for quite some time. There is much to see and no need to speak. He beckons eastward and we watch a rainbow begin to form within the clouds. “I could stand here all day,” he says to me softly. “It seems as though we are looking into forever.”
We watch the rainbow grow. Wider and thicker, it fattens in the sky, a finger of heaven touching this water that I love so much.
Photo by Betsy Wuebker
We look at each other, this Person who has come out of nowhere I know and I, and then look back at the heavenly display.
“You’re right,” I say. “We are. We’re looking into forever.”
It’s a finale of grand proportions that stuns me into further silence. There is nothing more to say. I think of the age-old promise the rainbow portends, a covenant of protection by the Almighty, holding us safe from harm, representing mercy and kindness. The rainbow is a bridge between heaven and earth.
Day will always follow night,
the warm days of summer
will always follow
the cold and snow of winter,
as long as the earth shall be.
Photo by Betsy Wuebker
The rainbow grows larger and then begins to fade.
The Person I’ve been standing with steps toward his car and then turns back once again to look out over Big Water. Transfixed, it is as though we both cannot break the spell. Finally, we breathe.
“I will come here to dance again,” he says. I know I will, too.
I am this water.
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Peter and Betsy Wuebker are location-independent professionals who share what they know about travel, simplicity and integrating work with life. 
Betsy, I kept getting chills while I was reading this post. Lake Superior is sacred ground; that’s all I can say. Your description of her is just so soulful. “The overlook is windy and deserted.” — that made me feel like I was standing right there with you.
When my dad and I drove past her (unlike in the story I wrote), we didn’t stop. He was in a hurry and we just kept driving with me staring out the window. It’s true what you say at the beginning of this post about her beauty taking your breath away. Maybe one day I’ll return to Lake Superior and actually touch her waters.
Davina Haisell has an awesome blog post here: I Survived the 3-Day Novel Contest
Hi Davina – I love it: sacred ground. We all have these sacred places, don’t we? I was talking with a friend recently trying to describe the magnetism I’ve felt in Alaska and on the North Shore, and she responded, “Exactly! I felt it in the mountains of Montana!” I was just so excited that someone knew what I was talking about. It’s this very primal thing. I am reluctant to speak of it sometimes because I get these strange looks and nervous responses from people.
You won’t get no strange looks from me, that’s for sure, lol. I have yet to make it up to Alaska, as you have. Would love to see the Northern Lights up close and personal, too.
It’s just as you say — primal. And knowing someone “gets it” is what it’s about because that way you don’t have to find the words to describe it.
Davina Haisell has an awesome blog post here: I Survived the 3-Day Novel Contest
Some awesome writing here. I felt the spell of Lake Superior, though I’ve never been there. I have some of the same feelings about the Atlantic – I feel more “home” when near it than when anywhere else, including on the shores of the Pacific.
Thank you, Dot. I appreciate the compliment. I really hesitated to put this out – it’s like ripping my guts open in a way, a good way. There is definitely a spell. I know you’ve mentioned you feel the same homing instinct with the Atlantic Ocean before. I think it’s wonderful that we can each have these places.
Thank you for the link. I forgot to thank you for the link and the excerpt. Thank you.
Davina Haisell has an awesome blog post here: I Survived the 3-Day Novel Contest
Oh, you’re very welcome. I knew you “got it” when you wrote it.
I never felt as close to Nature as you do. I’m a little jealous.
Hi Vered – Perhaps it’s just that you’ve not yet been (or really, returned if you believe in that woo-woo interconnectivity thing like I do, lol) to “your” place, wherever that may be in the world? I loved your post about California. You made me remember Big Sur and Santa Barbara so fondly. I loved living close to the Pacific. I also think that at various times in life we are busy with other things – careers, raising children, etc. I believe our places faithfully wait for us.
Hi Betsy .. I can’t now do this post full justice with the links & I’d love to read more and know more .. one day I will – like you know I’ll be back, and stand beside ‘your’ shore.
It’s an amazingly evocative piece of writing and bringing in Davina’s story is great – as she expressed her personal feelings too about the amazing LS – I loved geography at school & the Big Lakes always amazed me .. and now I keep learning more.
Your pictures are excellent as the rainbow unfolds its bridge of life .. and Pete’s photos earlier on .. the secretive mystery especially ..
Staring into the forever .. good title .. and I’ve loved the series – though for you it continues as it unfolds ..
Thanks for sharing so much .. I’ll be back to check out the links etc .. with love and hug or two .. Hilary
Hilary has an awesome blog post here: Spreading the idea- hearing the words- seeing the movement the power of video
Hi Betsy,
This is beautiful. I know exactly what you’re saying and am so happy you decided to share your feelings with us.
As a child who lived close to Lake Superior, I didn’t “get it”, but when I lived in the San Francisco area and was able to visit the Pacific Ocean often, I felt the “draw”. Again, I felt it in Alaska, at Lake Superior on visits and now here in Oregon. For me, it’s not just the water, but the mountains, too. There’s something to be said about their magnificence that’s beyond words….
Barbara Swafford has an awesome blog post here: Wishing You All A Happy Holiday
Hi Barbara – You’re so right about the “draw.” I felt it in Alaska, too, as you know. Land and sea in the raw. Thank you.