Gift of Water Olivia Kingery

gift of water Craw Corner

by Olivia Kingery

I was raised on the banks of the Grand River. My entire childhood was about water; my parents took us fishing, boating, swimming, exploring. Every season of the year and of my life, I’d watch the river from our back deck. The current was always a steady force I could rely on. Something about bodies of water, rivers and lakes and creeks and streams has always felt deeply important.

If childhood were a reel we could play back, I would want to play one of my earliest memories, when the city drained the Grand River for dam repairs. My brothers let me join as they set out barefoot up the riverbed. We turned over rocks to catch crawfish and measured them against our adolescent hands.

This memory returns to me often, the awe of seeing the river drained, how it felt, like learning the secret to a magic trick. Even though the river was empty, if I had to trace my love of water back to a specific point and place, I’d drop the pin there, in the Grand River.

I moved away from the Grand River after high school and arrived in Marquette on the shores of Lake Superior eager. I felt like I already loved the Lake, as if the Grand River had been preparing me for my arrival on its southern shore.

And, as so many do, I fell in love hard. Every chance I got I was wading into the water, hiking just a bit further, going in for just one more dip. I would dive under to change a bad mood and watch the shoreline sunset to end a great day. My life, just like most of the lives lived on Lake Superior, has been shaped by the current and demeanor of the big Lake.

In May of 2021, my fiancé and I moved from Marquette to a farm in Chatham. This was the first time in eight years that I wasn’t living near Lake Superior. And I felt it—I mourned the loss of seeing the shoreline every day. But, just as my life had previously been carried by water, we moved to the banks of a creek and pond—new bodies to know and learn and protect.

Black Creek is small and mighty, its rocky bottom opening wide to both forest floors and long marsh grass. Craw Corner is our favorite wading spot and the dogs’ favorite swimming spot. On a hot June day when the sun umbrellaed us in summer, my partner and I counted 26 crawfish, right out in the open, right there tucked into our corner of the world. My heart felt at home, as if I had turned over a rock and found myself all over again.

Water has a language we will never know, but I still can’t help but put my ear to the surface and hope to understand. Lake Superior shares the same conversation as Black Creek and the Grand River.

But I fear that one day there will be no conversation left to have. I wake anxious in the night thinking about water tables, sprinklers turned on after rainstorms, droughts all over the world.

My plants would say I am stingy with the hose, and I am. When I’m saturating my peppers while California burns by the roots, how can I not turn off the hose and head back to the creek? Dip my toes next to the crawfish and take a few deep breaths? I am grateful for my haven of water.

We all know, or we should know, how important water is. It isn’t necessary to love a lake, or any body of water, to understand that we need to fight for it. Moving to our homestead on Black Creek is part of my fight. There are understandably a hundred other parts of the fight, active steps in everyday life to reduce water waste and spread awareness, but for me, the most important part is love. Loving water is the heart of my fight.

Water Saving Tips

• Before making rice, wash the rice to remove excess starch— but don’t toss the left-over rice water! Use it to water your plants. They will love the extra dose of minerals and nutrients.

• If you run the shower to let the water heat up, consider collecting that water to use for your plants (make sure the water has cooled).

About the Author: Olivia Kingery writes and farms on her 80-acre homestead with her fiancé, dogs, cats, chickens and a hermit crab. “The Gift of Water” columns are offered by the Northern Great Lakes Water Stewards and the Cedar Tree Institute, joined in an interfaith effort to help preserve, protect, and sanctify the waters of the Upper Peninsula.