We want to wish our extended Lake Superior family the very best of the holiday season. Just before the snow flew, I managed to get the “outside” holiday lights on one of the medium-sized pine trees down near the lake. This is always something I vow to do in the heat of the summer, when my fingers are nimble and I don’t have to contend with prickly boughs scraping my arms. But I never do. It seems every year that the rearrangement of the lighting scheme waits until the temperature has dropped at least to freezing and the wind has picked up a bit.

I don’t know why there’s a penchant for decorating this tree. First of all, its location on the property dictates that the only folks who will see it are the occupants of our house and any passing boat traffic on the Big Lake. Now, that’s okay for a month or so in the early part of the season, but then even that boat traffic will depart as the lakers and salties quit their maneuvers and head for shelter through the winter. What’s left is this lonely little tree, complete with colorful regalia, to stand through the winter near the shore.

I suppose there’s something completely defining about this tree. Once the onset of dark winter occurs, we don’t see the lake except during diminishing daylight hours. We leave for work in the morning before the sun rises, and we return in the evening, after it has set. We quickly miss seeing the boat traffic off shore. In order to locate the lake at night, we need to have a good imagination. On days we are home, a trek to the shore is somewhat difficult since there’s snow on the ground. Oh, we can get out snowshoes or skis, but with the constant occurrence of fresh snow, this sometimes is more of an effort than we are willing to make. And for our constant companions Huck (the sheltie), Sunday and Midget (the cats), deep snow offers even more of a barrier to our daily “walking on the rocks.”

This little tree, then, becomes the definition of our lake during the winter months. That vast body of water lies out there somewhere, in the dark, biding its time until we can see and visit it again in more comfortable conditions. But with the flick of a switch, there, standing near the shore, is a little tree all decked out with lights saying, “Here I am and here’s your lake. We’re still here. You can rest assured.”

Oh, next year I’ll make sure the lights are arranged early enough so I don’t have work with frozen fingers. But even if I don’t get it done quite that early, I will make sure the lights are there. Without the lights and that tree through the winter, I’d feel kind of disoriented.

Paul L. Hayden
Editor

Address e-mail to plh@lakesuperior.com