It sounded like a good idea at the time. When Cindy
(our publisher) and Paul (our editor) said they’d like me to become editor,
it didn’t take long for me to say, “Sure.” (“Sure” is north woods for “Holy
moly, Rocky, that’s great!”) Then I got to thinking about the thrills and
responsibilities of editing a magazine named for the greatest Great Lake.
I wondered, “Who am I to speak for Lake Superior?”
Well, I was born and grew up “over the hill” in Duluth, Minnesota - out
of constant sight of Lake Superior but well within its magnetism.
Lake Superior instilled in me early its own set of truths. Drinking its
water from our tap, I grew to believe that this is how water must taste:
cold, crisp, clean. Anything else tastes “funny” in an unfunny way.
In summer, at home with no lake in view, the distinctive bellow of the
Canal Park foghorn reached us. Often when that deep bass boomed, the sun
shone at our house because the lake births fogs that start low and rise
up the hill. One part of the city tiptoes in muted mist while the other
strides openly in sunlight. Then, within hours, the roles switch. This
city even logs two temperatures - with 10 or more degrees difference. “Colder
by the lake” applies only to summer. In winter, overcast days hold in the
warmth of Lake Superior. Sunny winter days, bright in spirit, bring frozen
fingers.
Under the tutelage of Lake Superior, this is what I learned: Take neither
warmth nor sun for granted, and, on some days, gray skies are a blessing.
And for goodness sakes, always, always carry a sweater.
Before I first left home, the lake insinuated into my internal compass
that the true horizon lies along a seamless backdrop of the blue above
and the blue below. This is how it should be. Any other horizon unsettles
my soul in ways that I didn’t imagine until I ventured from the lake.
It was when I attended the university in the Twin Cities that Lake Superior
revealed its years of subtle work on me. Amid the wonder of skyscraping,
tall buildings, Lake Superior haunted me. For the first time, the lake
invaded my dreams and woke me to remembering. On my first trip home, headed
north on Interstate 35, I turned that corner at the top of Thompson Hill
and saw my home horizon - everything drawn downward to the water. Lake
Superior squeezed my heart, took my breath, momentarily brought water to
my eyes and left me with only the words, “Oh. Oh my.” This has happened
many times to many, many people.
Since then, I’ve traveled and lived other places. All were beautiful in
their ways and the people there reflected their landscapes. But those horizons
separated sky from earth and seemed, always, slightly foreign. It took
awhile, but I’ve returned to the comforting place of blue below and blue
above.
So who am I to tell people about Lake Superior? I’m someone who has learned
a valuable lesson, deep in the night and far from the shores: Lake Superior
tells its own tales. If we listen, it tells us the truth. Within these
pages, we try to listen well.
Konnie LeMay
Editor
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