Mid-July, the water is warm, and the air today is comfortable, almost cool. Summer is moving along quickly, so we are taking as many opportunities as we can for beach picnics, after-dinner swims, and berry picking. Last month, I built a rugged set of stairs on the hill in front of our house that is partially covered in raspberry bushes, and this month we have used it daily to pluck juicy red and black raspberries for morning snacks.
My daughter tends to pull us all out the door, delivering the correct shoes to each of us as an invitation. “Side,” she says, handing us our shoes and telling us it’s time to go outside. Often, when out the door, she pulls my hand and guides me to the front yard, points at the ripe berries, and demands I pick them.
Last weekend, I photographed a stunning wedding in Detroit, and on Sunday morning, I drove home mid-morning to spend the evening with Tim and our kids. It was as hot in northern Michigan as it had been downstate, so as soon as my photo gear was unloaded from the car, it was replaced with beach snacks and towels, and we were en route to Otter Creek.
We set up right where the creek flows into Lake Michigan, and immediately, we all bee-lined for the water. The creek flowed steadily, and we all plopped down in the water outlet, the current pushing us out into the lake, where the water temperature dropped a few degrees. My son declared, “It feels like a hot tub!” when we ran back to the creek to let it push us back to the lake, and I had to agree; it kind of did. The creek water must have been between 75-80 degrees, bubbling around us like a spa.
Writing poems has been slower for me during this season of having two small children and working more than I have since my son was born. Still, there are moments when the words bubble up as they once did, and I scribble them down in a notebook or type them in the notes app on my phone. I think writing poetry requires
a mix of moments of inspiration, moments of attention, and a lot of space. The space is limited these days, so my process looks and feels different than it once did. Now, the lines usually live in my notebooks for a while before they are crafted into something, allowing time to offer the space that caring for small children often doesn’t. The beauty of this method is that time also provides perspective and the opportunity to notice the connections between different experiences. I feel like my awareness is shifting because of it.
Holding an idea or line in my mind for a few weeks is like carrying a stone in my pocket. I’m not always touching it and might forget it’s there for a day or two, but then something will remind me, and I’ll reach my hand in to feel its smooth circumference, to turn it over a few times between my fingers. Eventually, I take it out of my pocket, put it on a shelf, and let it sit with some other stones where some sort of understanding begins to form.
It was this waiting that helped me finish this poem for you today. On a recent morning at the breakfast table, my son and I had a discussion about the prevalence of water where we live and the contrast of our home to many other places in the world. When I sat down to continue editing the lines I was working on, my discussion with my son offered me a new way into the poem, and the entire thing shifted because of it. I’m excited to share this collection of lines with you today.
Little Rivers
At the breakfast table my son tells me,
"everything is an island because water
is everywhere," because he only knows
the quick bike ride to Lake Michigan,
the short drive to Otter Creek,
the "let's go swimming" remedy to a hot day
or sleepless night. His world and our house
are full of beach sand and all summer long,
swimsuits hang on the line in the backyard.
At the beach, his baby sister reaches for the water
the same way she reaches for me,
eager and full of familiarity.
From a blanket I have only just laid in the sand,
I watch as they are both pulled to the water's edge,
running like little rivers into the lake.
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Connections
Last summer, I worked on a poetry project in collaboration with the Traverse Area Recreation and Transportation (TART) Trails’ “Art on the TART” initiative. Alongside four other poets, I wrote a piece that was then stenciled onto paved bike trails near Traverse City, so that users could encounter poetry in the natural world. TART Trails has installed the project again this summer, and this month the poems can be found on the path around Boardman Lake in Traverse City. You can read an excerpt about the project from the TART Trails’ newsletter below.
Thank you for your support! I hope you’re enjoying your summer.
Cheers,
Mae
