Some love the lake even more than I do

Last night, I attended the FRIENDS of Great Salt Lake Alfred Lambourne Arts Program, an event that brought together a community deeply connected to the lake. It was a gathering unlike any other I've experienced—a blend of reverence, passion, and a palpable sense of mourning. As I sat among artists, poets, filmmakers, and musicians, I realized that some people love Great Salt Lake perhaps more than I do—or maybe just in their own unique way.

The theater filled up quickly, a testament to the dedication of those who cherish the lake. There was a sacredness in the air, reminiscent of a church service, yet at times, it felt like a funeral. Many people seemed to have their identities intertwined with the lake; as it fades, they feel apart of themselves fading too.

What struck me most was how many attendees spoke of the lake as if it were a living being—a "her." I often do this myself. They referred to Great Salt Lake with a sense of personhood, as though she were a cherished friend or loved one. This personification carried a deep emotional weight, making the lake's suffering feel even more urgent and personal.

I was profoundly moved by the artistry and dedication on display. The Brolly Arts Program's film, Illusion of Abundance, stood out as a powerful piece that combines art with social and climate justice to highlight the crisis facing Great Salt Lake. Through dance, music, and film, Brolly Arts emphasizes the importance of Indigenous knowledge systems and aims to inspire community engagement and environmental stewardship.

Maya Hardie's film, Grieving the Great, delved into both the emotional and ecological crises surrounding the lake. It focused on mourning not just the lake's physical decline but also the deep, spiritual connection that so many people feel with it.

‍

‍

Nan Seymour’s poem, "A Lake Looks at Humans," was another striking reflection on our relationship with the natural world. I have been following her work on social media; her words are always beautiful, clever, and poignant. All the poets that night were incredible.

In the gallery, Taelor Mahana Worthington’s block print showcased a tangible connection to the lake’s flora and fauna. I even own one of her neckerchiefs and wear it often. Bill Peterson’s painting of Antelope Island evoked feelings of romantic nostalgia and a longing for my ancestral home. Alison Spencer’s depiction of the American Avocet was stunning—it felt like she has spent countless hours observing that species.

I am searching for a community that understands and shares a connection with Great Salt Lake, and last night, I glimpsed that—a gathering of individuals whose identities seem intertwined with the fate of the lake. There was collective grief. For me, what was missing was a sense of hope, which I know is difficult given what the lake is facing.

I left feeling that the creativity and passion in that room are essential to inspiring others and raising awareness about the lake’s plight. At the same time, I couldn't help but wish for more connections between this community and those working in science, industry, and policy. I believe it will take all of us—artists, scientists, engineers, industry and more—bringing our diverse talents and ideas together to make a real difference for the lake’s future.

Being in that space reminded me that we are not alone in our love for the lake, our desire to see it thrive, and our recognition of its essential role in our lives. I left the event inspired, yet also aware of the challenges ahead, and feeling more connected to those who share my passion for this extraordinary place.

‍