Tag: Lake Erie

Finding Inspiration on the Shores of Lake Erie

This summer, I will find a comfortable piece of driftwood and sit and stare at the water for a while.

There is a beach on Lake Erie, not too far south of Buffalo, where I go every summer to write, to think, and to walk my dog. The beach shall go unnamed because it is private, and because the residents don’t really want anyone else to know it is there. It does not have a boardwalk, concession stands, or cabanas. What it does have is sand and rocks and long stretches of emptiness.

Both Zippy and I love an empty beach. All photos © Moxie Gardiner.

Although summer is not officially here, around Memorial Day I like to firm up my plans for the warmer months. In the process of filling up the calendar with trips, tours, reunions, and classes (and, reluctantly, medical appointments), I decided to push all that to the side and focus on the one, all-important period in July, when I will return to the beach and focus again on the trilogy I’m writing.

As May comes to a close, I will wrap up the initial draft of the second book in the series. Once I do, I’ll need time to let it sit and percolate for a while, probably for the rest of June. In July, I will come back to the draft, and begin the serious business of rewriting it.

I know of no better place to let the book settle in than on the shores of Lake Erie. Why? Because it is quiet and there are few distractions? Yes, but there is more to it than that, and it is a question worth pondering.

Who wouldn’t be inspired by a Lake Erie sunset?

Part of the answer, I believe, is that I take great inspiration from this ancient lake, which has been with us for eons, and over time, has transformed in significant ways, much like the protagonist in a book. Like the best of stories, the lake is deep, sometimes opaque, and it hides many secrets beneath its surface, some of which eventually will be revealed, while others will continue to mystify. And like complex characters, the lake has many moods. One minute it is calm and placid, and then, with little warning, it is a furious monster, waves pounding the shore, tossing boats, and spitting sand into the wind. Yes, the lake is a metaphor for the mercurial nature of life and the precarious world all living things inhabit.

The other reason I go to the lake when I am writing is that it churns up many memories. Lake Erie has been in my life since I was a young child. My grandparents, my parents, and then my husband and I, rented cottages near Point Breeze for many decades. When I sit now on the empty beach, idyllic scenes from my past roll by, from the days of building sand castles with my brothers, to flirting with boys as a teenager, to later teaching my own sons how to swim and skip rocks across the glassy surface.

Bad memories of the beach are rare, but as a writer I remind myself to remember and embrace those as well. One recollection that has stayed with me for many years was the time my six-year-old brother decided to try out our new raft—the blow-up, rectangular kind you could sleep on. He was happily floating in the shallows when a sudden storm came up. The raft began moving rapidly with the wind and current, and away from shore. I happened to look up—our group was packing and getting ready to leave—when I spotted him, too far from shore to get off and wade back. I could see his face and knew he was panicking.

I am a strong swimmer, but I had to make a choice. Run down the beach and try to get ahead of the raft, or get in the water quickly and try to swim to him in time? What if I made the wrong choice? I tried to judge how fast he was moving. I split the difference, running and then swimming, and thankfully, reached him before he had been pulled out much farther by the current. My heart was in my mouth as I pushed and pulled the raft to shore. What if he had fallen off in the turbulent water? What would it feel like to lose my baby brother, and in front of my eyes? I had nightmares about it for years.

These ancient rocks have often been assaulted by violent storms which can come up on the lake without warning. We would sit on rocks like these when we were kids, and let the waves batter us during the storm.

Anyone who has read Virgin Snow will now recognize where the inspiration for one of the more tragic scenes comes from, the accidental death of a sibling. Yes, the beach brings memories of summer love, the sounds of the waves, and the smells of suntan lotion and evening campfires. But it is also a reminder that even summer, with all its life-affirming qualities, has its share of heartbreak.

So this summer, I will find a comfortable piece of driftwood and sit and stare at the water for a while. I will ponder the vagaries of life, and what insights I might want to share with my readers. With any luck, I will finish my revisions to Book Two and publish it before the end of the year. If that happens, you can give a good deal of credit to a solitary stay on a quiet, Lake Erie beach.

A perfect place to sit and contemplate.

A question for my Western New York readers: what are your most compelling memories of Lake Erie, either good or bad? And for others, is there a body of water that has played an important role in your life? If so, please share your stories in the comment section, below.

Moxie Gardiner is a writer, gardener, and traveler who grew up on the West Side of Buffalo, NY. In a previous life she was a journalist, magazine editor, speech writer, and policy wonk. Back in the day she made three solo parachute jumps, flew in an F-15 fighter jet, and crawled through mud pits at the Jungle Operations Training Course in Panama. She now meditates, grows tomatoes, and enjoys a good online Zumba routine at home on winter evenings. Virgin Snow is her first novel.

To learn more about the first book in the trilogy, Virgin Snow, check out these comments from readers. https://moxiegardiner.com/feedback-from-virgin-snow-readers/

For more information on the fascinating history of Lake Erie, check out https://www.greatlakesnow.org/2024/03/from-the-ice-age-to-now-a-lake-erie-timeline/

Islands without Cruise Ships

“Wow, look at the belly fat on this one!”

Up until that moment, I had not known that birds could have fat bellies, let alone that you can actually see the fat. Tom, the bird bander who was leading a team of researchers, showed me how, if you gently move their stomach feathers, you can see the fat and carefully assess the bird’s fitness for migration. It was one of many things I learned during an early morning field session on Kelleys Island, a tiny little naturalist’s paradise in the western part of Lake Erie.

Tom is in charge of weighing, banding, and assessing migratory birds on Kelleys Island under the auspices of the USGS and the Cleveland Museum of Natural History. This year the station was open to the public.

I have mentioned in the past that among the things I hold dear are islands that cruise ships do not visit. Don’t get me wrong. I understand the attraction of those islands and the cruise ships that visit them, but at this stage of my life they rarely provide me with what I need when I travel: the discovery and observation of beautiful things in our natural world. The islands I like tend to be quirky, self-contained little ecosystems where you can find rare and unusual flora and fauna. Who knew I only had to go as far as nearby Ohio to find such a place?

The “Shirley Irene” ferry brings passengers to Kelleys Island.

Although I’ve been visiting Lake Erie for many years, I recently discovered that the lake has 36 islands large enough to appear on a map. Only 15 of those are inhabited and Kelleys is one of them. The island’s population swells during the summer when most visitors take the ferry from Marblehead, Ohio and rent bikes or golf carts to tour the 4.4 square mile island. Less than 200 hardy souls live there through the winter, after the ferries stop running and only the most adventurous boats dare to make the trip across the wild and often frozen lake. At one time the island had been bustling with commerce. The Kelley brothers who bought it in the 1830s opened stone quarries and encouraged the planting of orchards and vineyards that thrived in the island’s soil and climate. Today though, with much of the industry gone, the land has been returned to Mother Nature.

I learned how to hold and release the birds in a way that minimizes stress.

Although a long-time member of the Audubon Society, I had never been to a migratory bird count before and was eager to learn all I could from Tom and Paula, the couple in charge of the station. Tom showed me how to hold a bird’s head gently between my two fingers and cradle its body in the palm of my hand, the way the bird banders do. I could feel the bird’s soft feathers and tiny heart beating in its chest. I released it, with its feet pointed down as Tom instructed, and off it flew, winging its way south for the winter. It was a magical moment.

Every year, hundreds of neotropical migratory birds stop on Kelleys to refuel on their way from Canada to points south. Thrushes, orioles, warblers, vireos, hummingbirds and many other passerine species are included in the bird count each spring and fall. The carefully preserved natural areas of the island provide the migrants with the insects they need to fuel up before their long flight.

Not only is Kelleys a bird lover’s mecca, it is home to a number of endangered species. There are signs, for example, pleading with people not to harm the Lake Erie water snake, a non-venomous reptile often found swimming along the shore. But perhaps the rarest plants and animals can be found on the “alvars,” unusual landforms that occur only in glaciated regions of the Northern Hemisphere. Although these areas appear barren, they are known to contain numerous distinctive plants and animals including rare and endangered species like the northern bog violet, spicebush, lady’s tresses and the blue leaf willow.

The alvars look barren but are home to rare species.
The Glacial Grooves Geological Preserves are the most famous in the world due to their large size.

The island is also a place of geological and archeological wonders. According to the Kelleys Island Audubon Club, the Glacial Grooves are the finest example of glacial scouring in North America and probably the world. Both the Grooves and the Eastern limestone quarry, at one time the bottom of the Devonian Sea, are now home to many fossils, including brachiopods, corals, gastropods, cephalopods and more.

Inscription Rock is believed to be a “message stone” carved by  the original Kelleys Islanders.

The Kelley brothers, of course, were not the first inhabitants of the island. The remains of at least two Native American villages were found near what is now called Inscription Rock. The Erie and Cat nations lived on the shores of Lake Erie and it is assumed they carved the rock, covered with ancient Indian pictographs.

The beaches on Kelleys Island are blissfully empty in the fall.

I grew up a city kid, but thanks to an uncle who was a science teacher, I developed a love of the natural world. Do you share my passion? If so, I highly recommend a trip to Kelleys Island, but go during the “shoulder” seasons of spring or fall, when the weather is still pleasant and the crowds are gone. I would love to hear your thoughts and comments about this, or other islands, in the comment section, below.

Moxie Gardiner is a writer and gardener who grew up on the West Side of Buffalo, NY. In a previous life she was a journalist, magazine editor, speech writer, and policy wonk. Back in the day she made three solo parachute jumps, flew in an F-15 fighter jet, and crawled through mud pits at the Jungle Operations Training Course in Panama. She now meditates and practices yoga. She is almost ready to publish her first novel, set in Buffalo.