Maureen Clark lives and writes in Bountiful, UT. She recently retired from teaching writing at the University of Utah and was the director of the University Writing Center. She was a past president of Writers @ Work. The lakes and rivers of Utah often find their way into her poetry which has appeared in Bellingham Review, Colorado Review, Alaska Quarterly Review, Gettysburg Review and The Southeast Review, among others.

Pa’ga-dit (Utah Lake)

Rachel White

Pa'ga-dit
Pa'ga-di-da-ma 

desert miracle:
freshwater creeks & rivers 

converge in silver streams 

through reeds and marsh
to shelter birds & native fish – 

thirteen kinds there were once

Pa'ga-dit
Pa'ga-di-da-ma

pa meaning water

& utah may well be Shoshone 

for the reeds, before the Utes 

were forced out
of the mountains to barren lands 

“settlers” didn’t want 

Pa'ga-dit
Pa'ga-di-da-ma

for twenty thousand years, maybe twice that
a quarry southwest of the lake 

supplied obsidian points, black
glass glinting like water at night 

beside footpaths from spring to spring 

all the way to the ocean 

Pa'ga-dit
Pa'ga-di-da-ma

I am walking around unconscious 

cut off from continuity with the past 

humanity who lived in accord –
holy water, cleanse my blood
of conflict and massacres, connect 

me to look history square in the face 

Pa'ga-dit
Pa'ga-di-da-ma

the Timpanogos, still here –
are dispossessed of the place 

central to ceremonial knowledge 

of generations; to further deface 

the sacred water is obscene – 

like proposing a condo project 

on Jerusalem’s Temple Mount 

Pa'ga-dit
Pa'ga-di-da-ma

when in doubt, my best
advice is to align
with native people, ask them 

what they think & quietly,  

like the still waters
of a peaceful lake, really listen –

A Bad Reputation

Teri Lyn Harman

I believed all the negative rumors about Utah Lake until recovering from back surgery brought me face to face with the vibrant reality. Unable to do anything but walk for physical activity, I took to a local trail on the north shore, camera in hand. The first time I stood at the edge of the water, triangles of ice piled to my knees and a harrier hawk sailing overhead, my chest ached with wonder. Nothing I saw spoke of a broken place or dead ecosystem. 

“Why the hell didn’t I know about this Utah Lake?” I asked the pale November sky. Wonder merged with stinging regret and guilt. I resolved to correct my ignorance. 

Today, months since that cold November revelation, I stand in a willow grove on the lakeshore. Enthralled, I watch a black-chinned hummingbird tend her tiny home. The teacup nest hangs from a thin branch, flaky white like cracked pottery. She wiggles her miniature body to settle on two eggs, her needle beak pointed skyward. Leaving her to her careful work, I move deeper into the trees and closer to the lake. Three young great horned owls perch in the upper branches.

Like true siblings, they screech at each other and fight over the best spot. The owlets are bold enough to look me in the eye. 

I walk out of the trees and onto the shore. 

Until last year, I thought Utah Lake was to be appreciated from a distance. Our home in the foothills of Saratoga Springs has a stunning view of the color-changing water, with grand Mount Timpanogos rising above it. But like many lifelong Utah residents, I often heard how “gross” and “damaged” the lake had become—the agriculture and industrial runoff, the toxic algal blooms, and invasive carp. This was not a place to visit and adore. We have the Great Salt Lake for that. So I shrugged it off as a lost cause. 

The water is dove gray and rippled by summer wind. The unbroken expanse of water is medicine, a haven tucked within busy suburban sprawl. Thanks to the removal of invasive phragmite reeds, the shoreline is a lush, diverse collection of grasses, wildflowers, and sapling trees. A pair of sandhill cranes, russet backs bright in the sunlight, graze for grasshoppers and snakes. Huge white pelicans soar effortlessly inches above the water, flying west to a quiet bay. There they join herons, ducks, avocets, coots, killdeers, and so many birds that call this water home. Behind me, Monarch butterflies drink from the showy milkweed blooms, the only plant on which they can reproduce. Recently placed on the endangered list, the monarchs need Utah Lake’s milkweed now more than ever. 

In my early days of exploring this place, the shift from ignorant to advocate came quickly. My love took root and demanded the truth, the whole truth. So I dove deep into educating myself. 

The truth is this: Utah Lake has a reputation issue, not a restoration one. Local efforts are, most impressively, saving this lake. Hundreds of projects over the last fifty years have cleaned and protected the water, restored habitats, removed 80% of those pesky carp, and even saved a native fish species from extinction: the June Sucker. The in-progress Provo River Delta Restoration, part of the June Sucker recovery efforts, will restore another 260 acres of natural ecosystem. This area will also create lake-loving recreation for residents, such as fishing, birdwatching, walking trails, and boating. The grassroots projects work in cooperation with the water’s natural systems, providing the resources to heal and encouraging sustainable human interaction. Thanks to people who know and love the lake, we’re correcting our past mistakes with these healing partnerships. 

However, loud voices insist otherwise. Lake Restoration Solutions (LRS), a development company, manipulates and amplifies still popular narratives about human damage to gain support for their Utah Lake proposal. LRS wants to dredge one billion cubic yards of sediment from the lakebed to build eighteen thousand acres of artificial islands, all of which they would own. Their savvy marketing claims their plan is the only way to “save the lake.” However, this project would completely change the natural structure, ecosystem, and landscape of the lake. There is nothing saving or restorative about permanently disrupting how the lake functions. It’s not an act of healing to build a city of islands with homes and recreation for up to half a million residents, massively increasing human impact. There’s no love for this lake in demanding it be something it’s not. 

Most of all, this type of engineered, drastic action is completely unnecessary since the lake is much improved, and in good hands with current partners. If we allow bygone facts to dictate the future, we will destroy all the progress made over the last half century and inflict unprecedented damage. Handing over our lake to development because of inaccurate information would mean we’ve allowed a bad reputation to destroy the reason humans live in this valley in the first place. 

My waterproof boots sink into the mud as I squint across the lake’s wide, glossy surface. My wonder is now joined with hope. Utah Lake is a heartening study in nature’s incredible ability to restore itself when humans act as loving partners, not dominators. I see it in the thriving, abundant ecosystem, the incredible amount of life. I see it in the local groups working to spread the love and tell the truth. Protecting Utah Lake from rumors and development is our responsibility in order to keep moving forward in well established, resilient partnerships. 

So, please, grab some boots, maybe a camera, and a few friends. Come to our big, dynamic freshwater lake. Watch the birds gather on the water, laugh at the playful marmots and old-men vultures, hold your breath as an osprey drops from the sky to catch a fish. Stand still in the mud and hear the echoes of generations of people, Indigenous and immigrant, thriving on these shores. Witness the truth for yourself and let the damaging lies fall away. 

Then, tell everyone you know.

Buzzing Gently

Andrew Sutherland and Natascha Meyer

When I was a boy, we had a boat. Every summer on Sundays, we took it out on “The Lake.” My dad referred to Utah Lake as the best kept secret in all of Utah for water skiers, even though sometimes we would ski through green algae. In the 1980s and ‘90s it often coated large swaths of the lake’s surface. Sometimes, we couldn’t take the boat out for weeks because of this. We often talked about my father’s memories with his father – how he and his brothers learned to water ski just as my brother and I were learning. He told us how bad it used to be. How large industrial factories lined the east shore. How people would get sick from swimming in the water. My father would commend the efforts being made to save the lake. Nowadays, Utah Lake is in even better shape.

“Decades of cooperative science and community-based restoration have put Utah Lake on the road to recovery,” writes BYU ecologist Ben Abbott in his blog. “The June Sucker are rebounding, invasive species are being removed, public access is expanding, and algal blooms are declining for most of the lake. Perhaps most importantly, our community is embracing the lake—learning about its unique ecology and renewing our commitments [...] Visitation has doubled in just a few years, community groups are organizing service and leisure events, and our leaders are leveraging their funding and influence to protect Utah Lake.”

As a skier on Utah Lake over decades, I experienced many facets of this magnificent body of water. On a good day, the water is calm – the surface like glass. A slight ripple on the water would make the ski buzz gently under my feet. The vastness of the water mirroring Mount Timpanogos and the sky evoked in me serenity and awe. 

I cannot begin to imagine what artificially created islands would do to my beloved childhood landscape. A private company, under the banner of “restoration,” is making claims to Utah Lake without any regard for its history, health, ecology and community. Why would anybody in their right mind turn this natural wonder into a construction site?

“They’ve decided what the lake needs based on a business model,” says Ben Abbot. “Their business model only works if they build and sell islands. Rather than beginning with research into what the lake might need, [Lake Restoration Solutions] started with a funding mechanism: selling land on artificial islands.”

I’m afraid this is just another case of prioritizing profits over people and the environment. When I checked out their website, I was baffled by the contradictions. Why are they calling it a “restoration project” when it is actually a massive alteration of the natural landscape? Restoration implies a return to the original form, which is what community efforts have been successfully doing for decades. 

We must reconsider what we understand as economy. Cash cannot be the highest authority for what it means to be alive. 

“We’re all dead unless we end our growth economy. NOW.” said Climate Dad on Twitter. Lake Restoration Solutions stands to make billions in taxpayer-subsidized profits. As tax-paying citizens we must evaluate our priorities. How much do we value and honor our environment? How much does Utah Lake mean to us?

The capitalist era is defined by the expansion and accumulation objective of corporations, according to author Jason Hickel. To sustain the process of surplus accumulation, capital requires an ever-growing exploitation of labor and nature, obtained as cheaply as possible. “The result is a system that, left to itself, automatically generates inequality and ecological breakdown.” An emphasis on capital does not reflect the reality of the delicate balance of the natural world, which humans cannot escape. We have a responsibility towards the landscapes we inhabit, towards Utah Lake.

I don’t want them to build those islands. I am convinced if they dredge the lakebed and build islands, the lake will die. Our choices and behavior have an inescapable impact on the environment, what surrounds us and what we’re a part of. Will Utah Lake, a body of water pre-dating human habitation in this region, die at the hand of humans? Or will it continue to thrive, thanks to the caring efforts of a devoted community? 

Over generations, my family has witnessed the healing of Utah Lake. I feel overwhelmed with the joy that comes from seeing a community rally around an ancient body of water which we humans have benefited from since we first inhabited the region. I am hopeful that thanks to ongoing restoration efforts set in motion decades ago, I will become witness to The Lake in her most natural and healthy form.

Like a Woman

Teri Lyn Harman

Utah Lake’s journey is feminine.
Born pure and sovereign, 

She filled her womb 

with life-giving and opened her arms. 

She offered water and home 

to all, asking for kinship 

and love in return. Life is a circle, 

she whispered. Sit with me as an equal. 

In the beginning she received 

reverence. The first people 

to live on her shores understood 

her power. Interdependence was worship. 

Then patriarchy came 

to the lake, replacing reciprocation 

with demand. Dominators,

not partners. The circle broken. 

She became less-than, 

a commodity, her body used, robbed, 

scarred. Many talked 

behind her back, spreading rumors. 

Yet her womb and arms stayed open.
Birds came, deer drank 

at her shores. Spiders wove art 

in her trees. Moonlight soothed her skin. 

Her life continued quietly, 

rebelliously. She waited for wisdom 

to resurface. Reconciliation, repentance. 

She showed her sacred resilience.

Her strength. Her forgiveness. 

Her ability to move 

forward. Again she whispers: 

Sit with me, body 

to body. I need you. 

You need me.