When I think of home, I think of sprawling blue water, hazy horizon lines, and icy-cold currents. No, I’m not from the Bay or Nantucket. I am from America’s third coast: the shoreline of Lake Michigan.

To be specific, I grew up in Chicago’s north-side neighborhood of Lakeview. And though the lake’s namesake takes from Illinois’ northeastern neighbor, Lake Michigan has long been embedded in my identity. The entire city of Chicago is built around it.

As a Chicagoan, you are taught at an early age that “the lake is always East” when learning to navigate the city. For 14 years, my commute to and from school took place on Lake Shore Drive. The athletic club my family frequented for over a decade was also named Lake Shore. Next to Lincoln, “lake” is probably the most common L-word you’ll find in the Windy City.

Simply put, I – like most other Chicagoans – love Lake Michigan. It is integral to the city’s identity, and, thus, integral to mine. My summers would be incomplete without dips in the lake and my winters would probably be a lot more manageable were it not for Lake Michigan’s unforgiving wind.

And, to be frank, it’s strange to live in an area so removed from such a body of water. How do I know autumn is coming if I can’t observe the dwindling number of boats in Diversey Harbor, or prepare for spring without notice of the mountains of melting ice that pile along the lake’s edge?

It’s difficult to remember when I first became aware of climate change. But, I feel as though global warming has always been on my mind. The term “global warming” was first coined in 1975, but I must have always assumed Chicago gained immunity due to its inland nature. In the last decade, however, Lake Michigan’s water levels have risen nearly six feet, with a record 9.51 inches of rainfall in May 2020.

Let’s put that in context.

Chicago, like many major American cities, was built on swampland and gained prominence after the construction of a canal, which connected the Great Lakes and the Mississippi River Basin. In 2013, Lake Michigan’s water levels hit a record low, but have since grown six feet, reaching record highs in 2020.

Chicago’s infamous weather cycles – heavy snows that lead to heavy rains which lead to summertime swells – aren’t helping either. Though Lake Michigan may appear indistinguishable from an ocean coastline, the Great Lakes behave more akin to rivers: they deposit into one another and flow to the Atlantic via the St. Lawrence River.

These deposits are replaced by rain and snow, but climate change has exacerbated normal evaporation and precipitation cycles, causing the last five years to be the wettest in recorded history. Factor in the fact that the average air temperature in Chicago has risen 1.2 degrees Fahrenheit since 1991 and it’s no wonder lake levels have risen as well.

I’ll spare you more details about the wind patterns, ice levels, and the notorious Polar Vortex. The lake’s levels have decreased since 2020, but the trends are alarming nonetheless. All this to say: flooding has gotten worse, beaches have disappeared, and it is clear that the lake’s ebb and flow jeopardizes the city’s future.

I would be remiss if I didn’t acknowledge the disparate impacts of such flooding. Many of the city’s more impoverished south side neighborhoods have been slammed by the recent flooding, with the working-class neighborhood South Shore bearing the brunt of the lake’s force.

Though the city has requested federal funds to build a barrier along South Shore Drive and has concocted other plans to mitigate shoreline erosion, the financial burden on individual residents has already added up. Yet, many have criticized the city’s response as neglectful toward south side residents.

To be frank, it all frightens me. Climate change is a slow process, but one that is clearly quickening. In a public policy course I’m taking this semester, we discussed the ways governments place dollar amounts on climate change. New reports are showing that the current levels we assign to carbon – $51 per ton – are far too low, and $185 per ton is a more accurate estimate. These new figures forecast devastating consequences if action is delayed.

Scientific studies like this lead to questions: How long have we been undervaluing the effects of carbon emissions? Is it too late? As I sit writing this paper during a 99 degree day in late September, I fear the worst. Is there any hope of stopping climate change in its tracks? If not, how do we mourn something that still exists?