We live in an extraordinary corner of the world. Bordered by three of the five Great Lakes, this part of Michigan serves as a home to 80% of Michigan’s forests, 12,000 miles of streams and 4,300 lakes.

It’s tempting to think those of us who live here in the Upper Peninsula are exempt from the mounting, terrifying news of what is now a global ecological crisis. There is nothing farther from the truth.

The hidden back story of our revered landscape needs to be told, faced with bold honesty, so we can ask the best questions of ourselves and our political, economic and spiritual leaders.

Here are two examples, intriguing but sobering glimpses of what’s going on with our Peninsula’s key water resources.

Lake Superior, in spite of its majestic, magnificent beauty, is increasingly becoming a sink for chemicals airborne from China, Europe and major cities like St. Louis and Chicago. Nancy Langston, in her “Sustaining Lake Superior” (2017), documents this troublesome story while also pointing to important lessons learned from our region’s past century of mining extraction and timber harvesting.

Because of its depth, temperature and turnover of water in Lake Superior (200 years), we now know that contaminants tend to remain, ending up bio-accumulating in its fish. State and federal fish advisories for Lake Superior were first established in 1971 to guide consumption levels. Unfortunately, they remain based on broad mathematical equations.

Those who choose to eat fish from our lakes and streams on a regular basis fall into higher risk categories. Recent efforts to raise the quality of water standards within reservation boundaries by American Indian tribes in our region, for whom fish has always been a central part of their traditional diet, are being met with resistance, on the basis of what officials claim are broader state and commercial interests.

On yet another front, near our peninsula’s southwestern border, a Canadian-based mining company’s intention to establish a sulfide mine next to the Menominee River is currently being met with community resistance.

The outcome rests now with a number of lawsuits and permits yet to be decided. What is chillingly acknowledged by all parties involved is that the river will need to be monitored for release of toxic substances “in perpetuity.”

The life of the mine is estimated to be eight years. Who will be pay for monitoring efforts and possible pollution over the next hundred years?

Our neighbors in Babbitt, Minnesota, continue to live with contaminated runoff from tailings from the abandoned Dunka Mine which has violated state water standards since its closing in 1994.

At the bottom of the complex mess we have made for ourselves living with our natural resources, lies a deeper question. What is “a good life?” We have chosen to measure prosperity, for the most part, by purely financial measures. Is the GNP (Gross National Product) the most important measure of the quality of our life?

How about balance, beauty, justice, community, relationship, arts and music? These qualities cannot be purchased. There isn’t a simple financial component for this equation. No amount of money can save us.

Breta Thunberg, the 16-year-old Swedish national, has become, these days, a voice for millions of young people around the world. Demonstrations in Johannesburg, New York, Denver, but also here in Marquette and many of our region’s smallest communities are special signs of hope.

As Wendell Berry, the philosopher-farmer from Kentucky writes, “It all begins with taking care of one’s neighborhood.”

What this means for us here in the Great Lakes Basin is getting to know where we live: our waters, our plants, our peoples, our history; learning the songbird’s language, walking the edges of our granite cliffs, delving into the ecology of our peninsula’s forests and wetlands.

Committing to daily and weekly rituals of hope, supporting the diversity of our faith-based communities. And for those who are able, participating in advocacy efforts to promote the planet’s health, fiercely defending and helping all peoples around the world, regardless of race or social class, gain access the highest possible standards of clean air and water.

This is an historic moment. The children of the world are reminding us, with prayers and songs, street protests and speeches at the United Nations, that we are not passing down to them this planet earth, but are borrowing it from them.

They want us to protect and defend their home. Personally, politically, spirituality. Now.

Editor’s note: Jon Magnuson is director of the Cedar Tree Institute and the Interfaith Northern Great Lakes Water Stewards.