In Oakland, California, there is a lake situated virtually on the edge of downtown. It's within walking distance of City Hall and the federal buildings, two blocks away from a community college and a major museum, and literally across the street from the county courthouse and the main branch of the public library. It's Lake Merritt, and, despite its urban location, it has the distinction of being the first wildlife refuge in the United States.
The lake is actually a part of the estuary, which is part of San Francisco Bay, itself a very large estuary. Said to be in existence from the time of the ice ages, when the city was founded 150 years ago, the alternately spreading and receding body of water that would one day be Lake Merritt was a marshy slough. Creeks running down from the hills emptied fresh water into the lake while rising tidal waters flooded salt water into the marsh and the surrounding lands. It was great for birds but not that desirable for a burgeoning city. Over the years, as the city took hold, the waters of the estuary were dammed, controlling the tides and creating the lake.
What a jewel it is in the city today, especially from a bit of a distance and in the glow of sunlight. At night it's equally pretty, ever since the city restored a necklace of lights around it. The lights had been up years before; they were taken down prior to World War II. Now they're back. Before the lights were replaced, I was opposed to them, chiefly because I thought they would de-emphasize the natural qualities of the lake, but now -- and they've been up for a few years -- I like them. After all, the very existence of this lake in its modern incarnation is a result of the combination of the work of nature and the human touch.
The lights have grown on me. I like them when I'm driving by, and I like them when I'm walking around the lake, which one can now do at night. Fifteen years ago when I lived in San Francisco, although it was just across the Bay, I never would have come across the bridge to walk around Lake Merritt. It looked dark to me -- and foreboding. It had a reputation of being unsafe. Joggers -- and walkers -- put their bodies and purses at risk, and few persons, certainly almost no women, would chance being around the lake after dark. Even in the daylight, like in Oakland itself, the lake seemed an uncomfortable place to be.
Now, the lake has become a welcoming place for more people than it has ever been. Certainly more welcome than in the days when untreated sewage emptied right in the waters, and more welcome than the days when large beautiful houses of the privileged surrounded the lake. Now it's more public -- a place of concerts, civic demonstrations, a place for peace walkers and Shakespearean players, a Children's Fairyland, and the odd sight of a Gondola out in the middle of the water. Mostly, though, it's a place where one can walk, or run, or sit and watch the birds who seem to know it's a place for them, too -- snowy and common egrets, mallards and other ducks, Canada geese, cormorants, black crowned night herons, brown pelicans.
There used to be a pair of white pelicans in residence. Once about four years ago, while walking around the lake, I just about bumped into one very large white pelican standing at the edge of the path. Not trusting what I had just seen, I plopped down on a bench and confronted a bird watcher sitting at the other end. "Oh," he said, "that's Helen. Her mate died several years ago. She's old and blind now but she's an institution."
White pelicans aren't supposed to be here, only the browns. Helen's gone now, but other birds remain or show up according to season. The environment of the lake changes, too. More consistent now because of modern flood control, the lake used to turn mostly fresh in winter and mostly salt in summer. Still, urban runoff from sixty storm drain outfalls burp into the lake. It's not all fast food and plastic bottles. The drains bring leaves and other organic and chemical matter causing odors, a less than aesthetically pleasing surface, and oxygen depletion. Those who maintain and care for the lake know this, of course, and have restored aeration fountains near the major storm drains. These are the folks who monitor the plankton levels, too, and remove widgeon grass and alert us as to whether the color of the lake is good or a cause for concern.
The big change, though, has to do with the rediscovery of Oakland by developers. Always the ugly stepsister to beautiful San Francisco, Oakland was left in the lurch during the boom of the 80s and early 90s. Now, whether due to the mayor's efforts or because it is a relatively undeveloped big city, Oakland is looking good to developers. There's plenty of area that should be developed or redeveloped but, of course, that area around the lake looks awfully pretty. And what a view office workers or high-rise apartment dwellers could have!
It's not just the lake, either, Oakland's waterfront is being developed. (A path for walkers that connects with the one in progress around the entire SF Bay is a welcome part of the development.) High-rises for conventions, tourists, and corporations look to many of the politicos like good economic policy. Urbanization. Much good is implied in the word, but we still haven't looked clearly enough at cities that have already done so to realize that we shouldn't cut off views or access or despoil the beautiful natural pieces of our world for some transient metal, glass, and concrete.
Yet voices on the environmental side of the issue are not completely unheard. A Master Plan for the lake is about to be released. The plan sets forth ideas for restoration and, among other things, proposes creating a park-like link that makes clear the connection between the lake and the estuary.