You Can't See the Other Side

Having grown up in Michigan, the Great Lakes State, perhaps I sometimes take these magnificent natural gifts for granted. Like most cradle Michiganders, the Great Lakes were a childhood source of both summer vacations and geography quizzes (how many of you remember that trusted mnemonic device: HOMES = Huron, Ontario, Michigan, Erie and Superior). So I’m always grateful to have the opportunity to be reminded of their awesomeness.

I had that chance last weekend when the Grand Rapids CVB was hosting a group of travel writers who were interested in the area’s sustainability initiatives. One of the writers, who now works in New York City and is originally from a small Texan town outside Dallas, had never visited any of the Great Lakes. So, after dinner at the new CityFlats Hotel in Holland, I planned to usher my group out to the beach at Holland State Park for a quick glimpse of the Lake Michigan shoreline. Before leaving the restaurant I called home to check in with my husband.

“You definitely should take the writer to the beach,” he agreed. “It’s just too bad it’s so foggy out. She won’t be able to see the other side.”

“Honey, you can never see the other side,” I reminded him.

“Yeah, but on a clear day she would see that she can’t see the other side,” he explained.

This was a good point. And sure enough, as the writers and I walked across the beach on an aluminum walkway towards the lake, the only obvious clue that there actually was an enormous body of water before us was the telltale lapping of the waves. A grey mist hazily blurred the defining point where the water normally seems to touch the sky. The writers and I discussed the surreal feeling we were all experiencing – as if we were about to walk off the edge of the world. The feeling transported me back to my other childhood big-body-of-water experience – summers on the beach in Tenby, a seaside town in southwest Wales and home of my paternal grandmother.

The foggy evening at Holland State Park definitely had a seaside-quality. We don’t question the fact that we can’t see the other side when standing at the edge of the ocean. After all, the ocean is home to monster-like creatures such as blue whales, great white sharks and giant sea squids. Cruise ships transport tourists from port to port, sometimes remaining at sea for days at a time. But most of us associate lakes with a much more humble body of water.

But the Great Lakes definitely challenge that notion. According to the Great Lakes Information Network (GLIN), www.great-lakes.net, a partnership of state, provincial, federal and regional agencies and organizations that provide an online resource, the Great Lakes are made up of six quadrillion gallons of fresh water, accounting for one-fifth of the world's fresh surface water (only the polar ice caps and Lake Baikal in Siberia contain more) and 95 percent of the U.S. supply. Spread evenly across the continental U.S., the Great Lakes would submerge the country under about 9.5 feet of water. The Great Lakes shoreline is equal to almost 44 percent of the circumference of the earth, and Michigan's Great Lakes coast totals 3,288 miles, more coastline than any state other than Alaska.

So if you have the opportunity to visit Holland State Park, or any of the other beaches along Michigan’s West Coast, take a stroll out to the water’s edge and take a look. If it’s a clear day you’ll see that you can’t see the other side.