Letters

Letters 09-26-2016

Welcome To 1984 The Democrat Party, the government education complex, private corporations and foundations, the news media and the allpervasive sports and entertainment industry have incrementally repressed the foundational right of We the People to publicly debate open borders, forced immigration, sanctuary cities and the calamitous destruction of innate gender norms...

Grow Up, Kachadurian Apparently Tom Kachadurian has great words; too bad they make little sense. His Sept. 19 editorial highlights his prevalent beliefs that only Hillary and the Dems are engaged in namecalling and polarizing actions. Huh? What rock does he live under up on Old Mission...

Facts MatterThomas Kachadurian’s “In the Basket” opinion deliberately chooses to twist what Clinton said. He chooses to argue that her basket lumped all into the clearly despicable categories of the racist, sexist, homophobic , etc. segments of the alt right...

Turn Off Fox, Kachadurian I read Thomas Kachadurian’s opinion letter in last week’s issue. It seemed this opinion was the product of someone who offered nothing but what anyone could hear 24/7/365 on Fox News; a one-sided slime job that has been done better by Fox than this writer every day of the year...

Let’s Fix This Political Process Enough! We have been embroiled in the current election cycle for…well, over a year, or is it almost two? What is the benefit of this insanity? Exorbitant amounts of money are spent, candidates are under the microscope day and night, the media – now in action 24/7 – focuses on anything and everything anyone does, and then analyzes until the next event, and on it goes...

Can’t Cut Taxes 

We are in a different place today. The slogan, “Making America Great Again” begs the questions, “great for whom?” and “when was it great?” I have claimed my generation has lived in a bubble since WWII, which has offered a prosperity for a majority of the people. The bubble has burst over the last few decades. The jobs which provided a good living for people without a college degree are vanishing. Unions, which looked out for the welfare of employees, have been shrinking. Businesses have sought to produce goods where labor is not expensive...

Wrong About Clinton In response to Thomas Kachadurian’s column, I have to take issue with many of his points. First, his remarks about Ms. Clinton’s statement regarding Trump supporters was misleading. She was referring to a large segment of his supporters, not all. And the sad fact is that her statement was not a “smug notion.” Rather, it was the sad truth, as witnessed by the large turnout of new voters in the primaries and the ugly incidents at so many of his rallies...

Home · Articles · News · Features · What the river dragged in
. . . .

What the river dragged in

Doug Stanton - August 9th, 2010
What the River Dragged In
By Doug Stanton
It’s strange having your own oil spill.
What we have, of course, is a blip compared to the one in the Gulf of
Mexico, which this week formally broke all records for offshore
spills. But after watching the gulf catastrophe unfold from afar, the
news that oil was gushing from a pipeline just three hours south of
here into a small creek that flows into the Kalamazoo River and,
potentially, into Lake Michigan, came as a surprise.
Until last week, I wasn’t aware that a pipeline even existed, though I
must have driven over or past it hundreds of times. The leak is now
under control, but a good storm could still blow some of the estimated
one million gallons of spilled oil into the lake, and maybe even north
along its sandy coast, past numerous resort towns and into the Grand
Traverse Bay, to a place called Clinch Park, where I’ve been swimming
most mornings from June to October since I was kid.
It’s hard enough to try to capture oil floating in an ocean. But oil
moving downstream in a swift river? Forget about it. As the
pre-Socratic philosopher Heraclitus said, you can’t step into the same
river twice.
But despite the danger to the lake, many people here, busy enjoying
their summer vacations, haven’t paid much attention to the spill.
After all, Lake Michigan has lived through worse. It may be near the
center of the continent, but it’s not immune to the outside world, as
we’ve learned over and over.
First there were the invasive Asian carp, swimming around the Chicago
River a mere six miles from the mouth of the lake. These voracious
eaters get excited by the sound of boat motors and can leap by the
hundreds into the air all at once, in some hellish version of a water
ballet. An oil spill seems almost benign in comparison.
We’ve also had to contend with an invasion of gobies - small, bug-eyed
fish you’re supposed to kill if you catch. They disrupt the food chain
that normally supports native lake trout, perch and bass. They entered
the lake in the ballast water of international shipping traffic, along
with zebra mussels, which filter micro-organisms - also food for
native fish - out of the water.
As a result of the zebra mussel infestation, the lake, several summers
ago, was often as clear as a Bahamian bay. When I swam, I could see 50
feet in any direction. This extra sunlight fed more algae at deeper
depths, which created algal blooms that floated up on the beach in
smelly heaps. Now that the mussels have died off, the lake has
returned to something like normal.
So for now, I swim. Winters are so long in northern Michigan, nearly
nine months of gray skies and deep snow, that summer comes as a fresh
burst. Amnesia sets in—you forget that winter will ever return.
Friends from other parts of the country descend. The days ripen
perfectly, the air no warmer or colder than your skin so that the
edges of your body seem to extend beyond you, up and down the
tree-lined streets.
Traverse City sits halfway between the North Pole and the Equator, and
our summer days are long. The light seems to take forever to vanish
from the sky and, when it does, it goes out like someone folding a
white sheet in the dark. A flare on the horizon. Then a rustle:
Goodnight.
I swim in the midst of bad news to stay sane. I crawl over the sand
bottom in six feet of water, which is cold and green, and nothing has
changed in my life - I’m a kid again. No zebra mussels, no carp, no
oil spill headed my way. No politicians, no bloggers. Every day I step
refreshed and clean from the water, and go up to the bookstore,
Horizon’s, and order a coffee and stand on the street in flip-flops in
the chill air, feeling the hot cup in my hand, the fine texture of its
paper, feeling as if I’ve just come awake from a dream.
And what I carry around in my head is this, the image of the water, of
looking around 20 feet in any direction, and beyond my periphery the
lake darkening to the color of light in a storm. Sometimes I see fish
slicing around my field of vision - silver missiles headed to deeper
water.
The work day is about to begin; traffic pours past on the four-lane
parkway. I wonder what the people driving by think of me, when I’m
swimming out there along the buoys; and in a time when there is too
much news to think about, I hope they think nothing at all.
When the oil spill in Michigan began, I heard about a memorial service
for Paul Miller, a 22-year-old Marine corporal from the nearby village
of Lake Ann, who was killed on July 19 in Afghanistan. Later in the
week, I stood in the funeral home, not far from the beach where I
swim, and stared at Corporal Miller’s flag-draped coffin.
I thought this: that the world’s troubles can be nearer to us than we
think, flowing in our direction, flowing toward home.
And while it’s true that we used to live in Lake Ann, and our son may
have played summer baseball with Corporal Miller years earlier, I
don’t remember meeting him. Maybe I passed him on the street, a tyke
headed over to the ice cream shop with his parents, where we were
standing in line, too, with our children, all of us oblivious to the
news to come, the depth and coldness of the water ahead.

This was reprinted with permission from the New York Times, which
published the essay last week. Doug Stanton is founder of the
National Writers Series, a year-round book festival, and author of
“Horse Soldiers: The Extraordinary Story of a Band of U.S. Soldiers
Who Rode to Victory in Afghanistan” and “In Harm’s Way: The Sinking
of the USS Indianapolis.”

 
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