A late summer’s drive through the tractless forest of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula led me to renew acquaintances with Lake Superior, following our separation of decades. On a remote beach, the smallest of waves lapped ashore, and the cobalt blue inland sea reached the horizon to the east and north. As ghosts from behind an attic door, wisps of memories slipped out. My thoughts returned to a train trip with my mother on the legendary Canadian Pacific Railway, and a boy staring in wonder into the inky black night, the great cliffs of the Canadian Shield brooding over Superior’s dark waters. And of breakfasts in the dining car with white linen on the table and a waiter with a Quebec accent, the train wheels clattering over the rails, a small lake appearing suddenly out of the primeval forest, a ghostly mist rising off the dark brown water as gaunt pines watched. As quickly as they had surfaced, the boyhood memories disappeared back into the cobalt blue Superior, leaving the man to contemplate the years gone by and feel the spirit of renewal.