About

Morning walk with Tess on the one bay of the lake that froze this year. You can see the open water line at about my eye level.

The lake didn’t freeze over this winter. There’s ice at one end, and streaks of thin slush in other areas, but local old-timers say it’s the first time they’ve seen this much open water in the lake all winter. It’s spooky. Since I moved into a house last July that overlooks Whitefish Lake, I watch the changes in the color and texture of the water every day. I also look across the lake at the local ski area. Nearby, in our metaphorical backyard, is Glacier National Park, where we play among the rock walls, high lakes, wildflowers, and, yes, the remnants of glaciers. Gradually I realized that I have a front row seat, right in my backyard, to watch the effects of our warming planet on some uniquely sensitive landscapes, landscapes that my heart happens to be attached to. The least I can do is be a witness.