Last week one of the administrators of the school where I’m working made me laugh by referring to this part of the country as the North Coast. “If there’s the East Coast, and the West Coast, then the Great Lakes are the North Coast!” It reminded me of an argument I got into in Georgia when someone referred to Ohio, my home state, as being land-locked. Land-locked? Land-locked?! Have you heard of something called Lake Erie? Try convincing anyone from a Great Lakes state that they’re land-locked.
One of my coworkers is from California and had never seen any of the Great Lakes prior to this past weekend. He confirmed my feelings by immediately declaring, “That’s not a lake, that’s an ocean. Whoever named it must not have realized how big it was.” Yes, any body of water big enough to have its own shipwrecks, its own lighthouses, its own history of naval battles (every Ohio schoolchild learns about Commodore Perry) is more than just an ordinary lake.
And Superior is, well, superior.
After nine months of the murky coastal marshes of Georgia, Lake Superior, cold and crystal clear and, on Friday, smooth as glass, was like something out of a dream.
I dabbled my feet in the water and watched my coworkers skip rocks halfway to Canada. What an incredible place.