34 years ago today, November 10, the Edmund Fitzgerald sank with all hands.
My backyard is still. Only the call of the gulls and the lines of migrating geese interrupted the somber silence that had settled over the water this evening. In a replay of last week, the winds will clock back to the south and increase Thursday into Friday where they'll peak with gusts to 40mph.
While the voice in your head tells you that this is just a lake, the voices of the dead remind you that caution is an attribute of the living. I've learned to never turn your back or rest your eyes when dealing with her. She'll strike fast, hard and without remorse.