Water here, Water there, Water water Everywhere, by Helen (Gianakura) Reinkensmeyer Class of '46, Soo High Teacher of Latin at Soo High from 1950 - 1953

Water here,
Water there
Water, water
Everywhere

The heart of Soo is the water. St. Mary’s River supports a quiet, essential, environmentally clean industry: freighters shipping ore, coal, wood, wheat, to name just a few products, from Lake Superior, through the locks to Lake Huron, then either to Lake Michigan or Lake Erie majestically passing through the locks. As a youngster growing up in the Soo, at night the fog horns and the boat whistles, one long, one short, guiding the freighters to and through the locks would lull us children to sleep. Outside, in the still of the evening we could hear the rapids splashing head over heels on the rocks. With all this water, our drinking water was always cold and delicious. The air was fresh and clean.

It was very common for residents, as it still is today, to have a “cabin” to spend the summers and weekends. Such a luxury was not ours. Instead, we relied on either some one driving us to the beach or taking the bus. This was during the 1930’s and 40’s. For a very long trip we could get the bus at the corner of our house at Carrie and Johnson. With towels and swim suits we waited patiently for the bus. A shorter trip would be to catch to bus downtown. Our destination by bus was Sherman Park, or the Pumping Station where water was purified and send to the city for our use.

The park was fun for children because we could wade out quite a distance and be safe. There were play swings and slides and, of course, a concession stand. Often on Sunday families would gather there for a picnic so the mothers would catch up on the gossip of the past week as they guardedly kept an eye on their children.

Swimming was not the only delight for us. The river provided us access to the large park after walking across all four locks. There we could climb huge rocks and pretend we were the king of the castle. We looked for “clay babies” and Indian arrowheads and paused to watch the big kingfishers swoop down to catch a fish. We could actually see the rapids and had to shout to be heard. That was before the hydraulic plant hushed the rapids.

How generous can a river be? It gave us a chance to visit a foreign country by taking us “across the river to Canada” on the ferry boat. My father, Chris Gianakura, owner of the American Café, served many Canadians when they came to the Soo. He gave their Canadian money to my mother who saved until she had enough to take the family to Canada for a day visit. We walked from Carrie Street to the Portage Street dock. With a Canadian dime in our hands, we placed it on the ledge of the check-in window and then walked through the turnstile. Off we ran to the dock where the ferry boat was waiting for us. We couldn’t decide whether to stay on the main floor or mount the iron stairs to get higher for a better view. Cars rolled on to the ferryboat as the worker waved one car at a time. Seagulls flew about swishing close to us. They were looking for something to eat.

In no time at all, we were in a foreign country where the King and Queen of England were displayed everywhere; where we could buy English bone china teacups for $1.25; where we could buy English toffee in decorative tins and best of all, bite into a Butter Raisin Tart, catching the syrup with our fingers. This was an adventure that only the St. Mary’s River could provide and it was right in our back yard!

The locks were closed during World War II robbing us of our dearest pleasures. But these pleasures are now priceless memories and to this day, the St. Mary’s River never lets me forget them.

No Civilized Life, This, by Ken Miller

There’s something about the Ste. Marys that brings out the joy in people. Not the not the joy of a mere civilized life, but the splash-in-the-mud-puddle joy of an uninhibited three year-old. There is something that releases the joy of childhood in someone no matter how long they have been around, no matter what they have seen, how many times they have scolded their children or scowled at a spouse. When they venture out upon the Ste Marys the river will release that hidden joy within.

So it was no surprise when, as I sat reading on the deck of Devil’s Dream, II (my gently aging Tartan 34 sailboat), that I saw Rex and Larry putting downstream on a home-made raft. It was a latter-day Huck and a very pale Jim making their way south on what looked like three pallets, some blocks of Styrofoam, and two old tires, powered by a tiny outboard motor. Seated on two home-built chairs and flying the Jolly Roger (under the National Ensign, of course), they were on their way back in time to their tenth year, each shedding 60-odd years with enthusiasm and, I must admit, a certain flair.

I immediately jumped up and in my most officious voice asked if their vessel was Coast Guard inspected. They proudly pointed to a registration number on the side of the contraption proclaiming that it was properly registered with the State of Michigan as a watercraft. I was astounded into speechlessness, a state that I seldom occupy.

I quickly ducked below and grabbed my camera. The picture you see here is how I found them on the river. By now I expect that Rex and Larry are somewhere south of here, lying full-length on a sandbar, eating their fresh-caught dinner, hiding from the slave-catchers, and having the time of their young lives.

The Dog Days of Summer on the St. Mary’s River, By Sharon Brunner

The first time I spent any time on the St. Mary’s River was back in 1993 with my beloved. The canoe glided peacefully down the river just yards from the river bank. The water glistened as the paddles skimmed the surface of the water. Purple and pink hues were splashed across the evening sky. Seagulls circled above us and crows could be heard cawing off in the distance. We paddled the canoe from a friend’s home off Riverside Drive to the channel where the Sugar Island Ferry transports passengers to and from the island. We turned the canoe around and headed back to where we started. A small island sparked our attention and we paddled towards it. The island sported a couple of trees and lots of foliage. Once our interest was satisfied, we headed back to the home on Riverside Drive to bring the canoe back to shore.
Another peaceful evening, my husband and I sat on a large rock and watched a ship travel up the St. Mary’s River. We could tell the ship was empty because much of its hull was above water. We surmised the ship was on its way to pick up coal or ore pellets from the shores of Canada. Many ships travel the waters of the St. Mary’s River. A full moon lit up the sky and had shown a spotlight on the ship. The evening air was becoming a little chilly as the end of August was approaching.
Our children loved swimming to the man made tower that was placed 30 yards from the shore. The river bed was dug deep by large machinery to support the concrete pilings. Large rocks with an average diameter of one yard or larger were placed around the bottom of the tower and extended several feet above the water’s surface. The water is deep around the tower and the family felt elated when they reached the rocks and climbed up on top of them.
An Osprey family builds a large nest on top of the tower every year to raise their young. During a wind storm, which seemed to be prevalent this year, the Osprey lost their nest and the eggs. We were disheartened, then happy to see the nest was rebuilt again, only to be damaged by another wind storm. The Osprey nest is in disarray hanging precariously off one of the beams. However, one small Osprey has survived the ravages of the wind and waits patiently as its mother brings food to nourish its growing body.
During the fall of 1997 we invited another member to join our family, a dog named Moon. She was a medium sized dog, weighing approximately 60 pounds. During the summer months, she loved swimming. We would take her for a short walk of approximately 100 yards to the shores of the St. Mary’s River so she could bask in the coolness of the water that was fed by the cold depths of Lake Superior. She would also swim to the rocks of the tower and walk around the surface with the rest of the family. It appeared that a smile crossed her face when she reached the rocks.
A few years later another dog joined our family, Snickers, a Sheppard mix. He ended up being 90 pounds, a big teddy bear who loves to snuggle. Snickers was nervous at first until he learned how to swim. But with careful guidance he picked up this skill and learned to love the St. Mary’s River as much as we do. He chases sticks as we throw them out to the deeper water. Snickers loves to fetch; but he does not bring the sticks back to us so we trick him into giving up one stick as we throw another.
Yet another dog joined our household and his name is Doogie. Doogie, being predominantly black lab, adapted to the water very quickly. He loves to fetch sticks also. Doogie and Snickers retrieve a large stick and swim in together holding the same stick in their teeth. Our neighbors think this behavior is hilarious.
As Moon was reaching the end of her life, crippled with arthritis in her hips, she found it difficult to sit or stand. She would pace back and forth in the river knowing that the cool water helped relieve some of the arthritic pain and soothe her muscles. We said our goodbyes on February 7, 2011. Moon is very much a part of our happy memories associated with the St. Mary’s River. Doogie and Snickers still enjoy the river.
Our life in Sault Ste. Marie and experiences with the St. Mary’s River have led us to believe we always want to live near water. We love wading in the river, watching passing ships and feeling the serenity that our connection to the river brings us. The overall feeling of our life by the river is one of much pleasure.
Let’s all celebrate the Dog Days of Summer!

Morning Storm on the St Marys, by Jillena Rose

Four Mile Beach, Jillena Rose

Late evening on a barren sandbar
And three people range
Its perimeter in the long
Silent shadows of sunset.

Water moves.
The sand is moved upon.
If you walk the place they meet,
You become part of the

Pull...release...pull...release

There are no deep thoughts here,
No rage, resolution,
Conviction or conjecture.
Only the movement that acts

On the senses. Senses that move
Over shadows, shadows
In low light
On the sand bar.

The St Marys River, by Peter Gianakura

When my siblings and I would visit the Sault Locks back in the 1930's and as we approached the first lock, we could hear a roar coming from the north near the Canadian border. We soon discovered this sound came from the St Marys Rapids. As we crossed the locks and came closer the sound grew louder.

While attending Sault High, a classmate invited me to fish off the shore and cast into the St Marys Rapids. I had never fished at that time, but my friend had countless times. As we stood at the rocky shoreline I could see close up the roiling, boiling untamed surge of the St Marys River as the waters hit and splashed over the rocks and boulders. Some of these rocks were visible, others were hidden, but all added to the disturbance of the flow and to the roaring sound. I was mesmerized at such a spectacle, such a wonder.

Today, crossing over the International Bridge, the much tamer rapids appear. Rocks and boulders are now much more evident, the water much slower and not as disturbing. At this point man has tamed the avid path of the St Marys River.

Still the St Marys flows with a swift and powerful current and one still wonders in amazement how the native Americans, by the thousands, fished these waters in the mad tumble of water with rocks and boulders threatening their canoes and lives. Their skill was admirable and the st Marys River was the home of endless fresh water fish. The St Marys River is the dividing border between two great nations and continues to feed on both sides the senses of sight and sound and the natural species of fish that are still available. This border not only creates a division between two great nations but it also creates a spiritual connection, a friendly relationship with our Canadian neighbors.

Besides the ambiance of its flowing majesty and electric power, the river also provides us a means of conveying tons and tons of new materials and grain to meet the demands and needs of our society.

It's easy to take the St Marys for granted, but regardless, her waters have blessed us all in the past, in the present and in the future.

May she continue to feed us body and soul.

Family and the River, by Cris Roll

I think when you live on a body of water like the St. Marys River (or Lake Superior), it’s so integral to your life that you often don’t think about it. It’s like your family. You take it for granted. It’s just there. You don’t think about the unique or odd or wonderful things about your family because they just are your family. It’s only when you get away from your family as you’re growing up and experiencing other families that you begin to see your own family more objectively. And, I daresay, you appreciate your family more when you compare them to other families.

The river’s like that in a way.

When I was a kid, there was nothing more comforting than hearing the freighters calling back and forth to each other in the night. I still enjoy going to sleep to that sound. Train whistles sound lonely to me, but freighter horns are deep and rich and comforting. Like being wrapped in a blanket on a cold night. I have a friend who I used to take late night strolls with around town who could tell which freighter was which just by the sound of the horns. It was something he picked up working on the boats.

My mother told stories about crossing the river on the ferry during World War Two to get a turkey for Thanksgiving because there was a meat shortage over here on the American side. My Veyette cousins who lived downriver told stories about crossing back and forth to Canada on the ice every winter. In my adolescence, our neighborhood gaggle of girls spent nearly every summer day basking in the sun at Sherman Park and eating popsicles from the concession stand over by the pavilion. One of the moms hauled us back and forth happily, I would guess, to get rid of us in the afternoons because we always congregated in her kitchen or the porch of the house next door. And as teenagers, we all heard stories about the dating couples that parked somewhere down by the river “to watch the submarine races.”

Before my dad died in 1957, he worked at the Locks and rode his bicycle across the top of the gates to get to his work station inside the big stone administration building. Now there are railings on those gates to prevent accidents. My dad never fell off or rode his bike off the gates.

In the early ‘80s, I moved downstate for about a year. There was one hot summer night when my friend and I drove around East Lansing looking for a dirt road because we missed the Upper Peninsula so much. We finally found a two- or three-mile stretch of dirt road but it turned into pavement and, there we were, back in civilization again.

I felt landlocked in East Lansing. I longed to see the river and Lake Superior again. I realized that I just needed to know it was there, whether I looked at it every day or not. The river and the lake had given me my sense of orientation and direction in the world. They’re always to the north (unless you live downriver).

When I left the Sault it was after the air force base had closed at Kincheloe. There weren’t many jobs, and I had gone looking for something better. I ended up in a job I hated, and the wages were no better than what I had made in the Sault. So many young people had left to never come back. People made jokes about making sure the last one to leave the U.P. would turn off the lights. But one day, I decided that everybody couldn’t leave. And I was one of them.

I took my chances, and I came back. Back to the Sault. Back to the river. And it worked out over time, although I was unemployed for months. And now, I can look at the river every day if I want to. I often don’t. But I know it’s there. Kind of like family, there when you need it.