Another American Adventure: Presque Isle (almost an island)

Sunday, May 15, 2011

Presque Isle (almost an island)

We really should have known better. It was raining here and the forecast didn't look good, but we thought we could handle a little rain so we headed north to see what Presque Isle was all about.

Presque Isle is a little peninsula that arches into Lake Eric just off of the city of Erie PA, making a safe little harbor there. Presque Isle actually means "almost an island". There are lots of trails there, beaches, a 1950's style amusement park with wooden roller coaster, bike paths, a protected environmental area.

But, alas, it was raining so hard when we got there that we could barely get out of the car. When I opened the window to view the beach the water blew straight into the car. And the temperature dropped about 15-20 degrees, so it was quite cold.

I guess that's what they call the "lake effect".

We did find a covered place for a picnic. No rush on the tables today.

We will have to go back. I would like to see Presque Isle during winter when they say that Lake Eric freezes.

2 comments:

BarbaraMay 16, 2011 at 5:25 PM
Do the locals pronounce it presk eel (as in French) or presky - isle (as in Maine)?

In French, I believe it is written presqu'ile. Our word peninsula comes from the Latin paene insula or almost an island. In German, it is Halbinsel (half island). In Japanese, it is hantoh (half island, too). I love languages!!!!
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beth cioffolettiMay 16, 2011 at 7:29 PM
You know, Barbara, I'm not sure because I didn't talk to anyone there! But the people around here (Pittsburgh) say PRESK ISLE.

When you think about it, words are pretty amazing!
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"In those first days, people said, a squirrel could run the long length of Pennsylvania without ever touching the ground. In those first days, the woods were white oak and chestnut, hickory, maple, sycamore, walnut, wild ash, wild plum, and white pine. The pine grew on the ridgetops where the mountains' lumpy spines stuck up and their skin was thinnest.

"The wilderness was uncanny, unknown. Benjamin Franklin had already invented his stove in Philadelphia by 1753, and Thomas Jefferson was a schoolboy in Virginia; French soldiers had been living in forts along Lake Erie for two generations. But west of the Alleghenies in western Pennsylvania, there was not even a settlement, not even a cabin. No Indians lived there, or even near there.

"Wild grapevines tangled the treetops and shut out the sun. Few songbirds lived in the deep woods. Bright Carolina parakeets - red, green, and yellow - nested in the dark forest. There were ravens then, too. Woodpeckers rattled the big trees' trunks, ruffed grouse whirred their tail feathers in the fall, and every long once in a while a nervous gang of empty-headed turkeys came hustling and kicking through the leaves - but no one heard any of this, no one at all."

Annie Dillard, An American Childhood.