I remember electric air
Disconcerting being in a metal boat
The only thing for 1,700 square miles.
The radio would start buzzing
I worried the lightning would find me

I remember my friend Pat
I would collect brine shrimp
He drove and fixed salty boats
Tom Waits played in the scavenged tape player
He introduced me to the people of the lake

I remember the sound of ice breaking
Flows of freshwater would freeze
Lake currents would force the ice
The anchor line would slice the ice
Popping and shooting the breaking ice

I remember the boat settling into the water to stop
After the anchor line caught it would be silent
I remember the silence and the stillness
We would close our eyes. And take it all in.
The smell of the shrimp, grebes, salt, boats

I remember the smell of the boats.
They smell worse than Great Salt Lake
The petroleum smell of the gas, kerosine, the exhaust, the oil.
The men who lived on their boats
Stink

I remember that it sucks when you have to poop
On a boat
Even worse… peeing off a boat while pregnant
Having your period
There is no privacy on the salty boats.

I remember the leg numbing waves
the hard shocking bumps from dense water
I would try stabilize my pregnant swollen belly with my arm
My John may have been scrambled
On an exuberant lake in the boat of a brine shrimp harvester

I remember diversity
Salt content, people, birds, weather, lake levels, food
Alaskan salmon, sushi, smoked meat,
Chile verde, ziploc baggies of frozen dinners
Lattes on the lake, vodka from other saline lakes, wine

Note from the poet: I have experienced the very highest of highs and lowest of lows at Great Salt Lake in my short 46 years, half of those years spent in the salt and water and mud learning from our lake. I will never shut up about our lake.