Beautiful and turbulent -- not many things have the privilege of embodying both qualities. My favorite place in the world is full of contradictory attributes. It is both hot and cold, loud and quiet, mighty and meek. It is a home to many, but it has also taken many lives. It is a place of rest and peace, but has also been used for travel. It sits between two countries, and is the greatest of the Great Lakes. My favorite place is Lake Superior.
Lake Superior. Upon hearing those words a slow smile spread across my face. It did not quite reach my eyes, but stayed low, quiet, and serene while I observed my surroundings. From my viewpoint it was like seeing the edge of the world. My feet were solidly planted on the top of a ridge of clay. The clay was the color of rust, but brighter like an orange rust. This rust spread to the left and right, and it went down. Down, down, the bumpy surface was scrawled with cracks and dents. Although it appeared to be an all-natural brick, previous experience revealed that it crumbled easily into a fine silt that felt like satin.
At the base of the incline, the red-orange silt faded into a dirty blonde sand. It was a beautiful contrast: the tan sand, flecked with bits of charcoal from late night campfires, meeting the soft red cliff. The sand was not nearly so soft as the clay, and it was not nearly as comfortable to tread on either. Instead of repelling the sun’s rays, it absorbed them creating a terrain that could only be beared for a few moments. After those few moments whoever was walking in the sand would have to jump into the water to relieve their scorching feet. Lake Superior, however could not be endured for much longer than the sand. Instead of burning, the lake was freezing. Even though it was August, standing in the lake would numb a person’s feet, and plunging underneath would bring a headache from the cold. The only comfort for those walking was the area where the water met the sand.
The water was unlike any other. It was cold, but it was beautiful. The sun shone off of the gentle waves that rocked towards shore. It, the water, was blue and crystal clear. No dirt or flakes of seaweed lulled on shore; not a piece of algae was to be seen. In the distance, islands were visible, appearing as lush green spots on the horizon. They were the Apostle Islands. Beneath the surface, red and white striped agates, along with black, green, white, and clear stones rested in the sand. Deeper water held fish of all shapes and sizes, monstrous trees left over from the logging days, and even the one of the deepest points in North America.
The islands, the lake, the sand, the clay, all of this was visible from my view. There was great contrast in temperature, color, and potential. The Lake that I love has taken many lives, but it has also inspired many. Some days it roars with a tempest and flashes with lighting. Other times, like the day I visited, it was peaceful. It was beautiful. It was and is my favorite.
