The healing power of wet rocks

Visiting the north shore of Lake Superior was a balm to my soul

This past week I was blessed to be able to visit one of my favorite places—the north shore of Lake Superior. It was a chilly, foggy day, and the water that stretches out seemingly forever was veiled by a dense cloud of white. I couldn’t see much beyond the rippling waves of the shoreline, where ring-billed gulls congregated on rocks and darted about above our heads, sometimes disappearing into the fog like little winged ghosts.

I was there with my husband, my dad, and my dad’s wife. The three of them lagged behind me as I walked along the shore, hopping onto rocks and using them like stepping stones to get out onto the lake. I stood there, listening to the water rippling against the rocks, closing my eyes and soaking it all in. I didn’t care about the chilly wind seeping through my sweater. I was exactly where I wanted to be.

I could have stayed there all day, defying the chill wind. There was plenty to do. Search for agates among the pebbles, skip stones on the water, walk for miles, sit on the rocks and listen to the sounds of the lake, creep up to the gulls perched on the rocks to see how close I could get before they lost their nerve and flew away.

But my family had other ideas. It was cold and foggy and windy, not exactly the ideal conditions for enjoying an afternoon on the shore. So, after ten or fifteen minutes, we walked back to the car—my dad and his wife walking along the sidewalk, while I enjoyed every possible second on that pebbly beach.

We drove to a local ice cream place, where I enjoyed a butterscotch malt while looking out at the lake while my family ate their ice cream around the corner, sheltered from the wind. I remember thinking how silly it was that they weren’t enjoying the view. But they were enjoying each other’s company.

That’s what we had taken this trip for—to enjoy the company of family that we don’t get to see but once a year, if that. We had a big family dinner on Monday night at my brother Carl’s house. He has twelve kids (ages 4 to 26) and a few grandkids, and almost all of them were there. Two of my other siblings and most of their kids were there too. It was so much fun reconnecting with my family in this way. I got a little dizzy with how many times I heard “Auntie Becky!” from some little voice or another. I wanted to hug all of those little ones to me and not let go.

The rest of the trip was harder for me. This was the first time I had visited my dad and stayed in my parents’ house since my mom passed away, and it was strange being in her house without her. Even so, I hadn’t expected it to be so hard. The last time I visited was for my dad’s wedding in August of 2023, and I was an emotional wreck. I wasn’t expecting the same jumble of emotions I experienced then to impact me during this visit.

I also hadn’t expected to visit the north shore during this trip. That was my dad’s idea. And what a good idea it was! Standing on that lake shore, even for such a brief time and in such unpleasant weather, was a balm for my soul, like walking through Narnia-esque woods or standing beneath a glowing tree in autumn. Being there helped quiet my jumbled emotions and soothed some of the sting that came from really feeling the absence of my mother.

Perhaps the next time I visit my family up north, hopefully around this time next year, I will feel the sting less, with or without a trip to the shore.

---

A poem inspired by a childhood trip to the north shore:

Sunken Treasure

The sun gleams down unhindered
from the late July sky,
but the breeze that blows 
across Lake Superior
softens the sun’s fiery glare.
We search for agates 
along the pebbly shore,
laughing at Daddy 
as he pulls off his shoes
and socks
and rolls up his jeans,
then wades into the icy water.
He plunges his arm into the lake,
lifts up a piece granite
as big and round as a softball.
He brings it to us, 
grinning as if he had found a pirate’s treasure.

I wrote this poem as part of a collection of poems about watery places that I put together over twenty years ago. I’ve grown a lot as a poet since then, so this project will need revisions if I hope to publish it as a collection some day. One thing that hasn’t changed is my fondness for bodies of water, from rippling creeks to the ocean. No body of water lives in my heart like Lake Superior, though!

---

Books about Minnesota and/or Lake Superior:

• North Woods Girl by Aimée Bisonette, illustrated by Claudia McGehee. This book reminds me of my late grandmother, a true north woods girl herself.

• One Summer Up North and One Winter Up North by John Owens.

• One North Star by Phyllis Root, illustrated by Becky Prange and Besty Bowen

• For young adult readers, The November Girl by Lydia Kang.

---