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I'm Maggie Smith and this is the slowdown. This summer my kids and I road tripped to Traverse City, Michigan, with some dear friends of ours. The last few years we'd made the longer trip to Holden Beach, North Carolina, and I was curious to see how the lake beach felt different from the Atlantic coast. Sure enough, plenty was the same. There were jet skiers, parasailers, teenagers playing sand volleyball, and children making sandcastles and splashing in the shallows. But I saw one thing at the lake that I didn't see at the ocean. Ducks. Whole families of ducks. Mallards with their beautiful glossy green heads. The mother ducks, mostly muted brown but with subtle tucked away indigo feathers on their sides. And so many baby ducks, fuzzy and clumsy, some small enough to fit in the palm of my hand. They followed their mothers around our patio, staggering, snapping at the grass and eyeing our snacks. They left long lines of tiny webbed footprints on the beach. They swam in the water. My kids and I took plenty of pictures of those ducks. We would call to each other, excited to see them so close to our back door each morning. These babies are the smallest yet. Come look. Once my daughter couldn't find her hair tie, the one she used to put her long hair into a ponytail on those humid afternoons as she searched through the books and sketch pads and snacks on our patio table, I saw it held in the bill of a mother duck. It must have fallen into the grass. Eventually the mother duck dropped it and I picked it up so none of the ducks would mistake it for food again. At times like that, it's hard not to feel like we humans are in the way. During our time at the lake, I was enjoying the beauty, but I also looked around more than once and thought this would be much more beautiful if we weren't here. I didn't mean if my family weren't there on vacation. I meant if humans had never built highways and strip malls and gas stations. The view of the water and trees and sky is better without jet skis and rafts and parasailers. The view of the lake is better when it's nothing but lake. I feel this even driving in my city, my view of the clouds and trees obscured by warehouses and high rises and radio towers. We don't have to go to the water or the forest or the mountains for nature. Nature is all around us all the time. We coexist, but sometimes the society we've built makes it hard to notice. Today's poem acknowledges the beauty we have, the view we have. It also mourns the beauty that would exist without our interference. Holding space for both is a feat of empathy and imagination. Lake by Noah Falk Sick with boats, sick with people in swimwear, the water bright with tidal plastic at sunset the lake is a city memorizing the sky stuck on orange meets pink meets the last part of a never before blue. It's a ruined work of art now clouded gray, gone shirtless. Men point to every moving thing on the horizon. The Slowdown is a production of American Public Media in partnership with the Poetry Foundation. To get a poem delivered to you daily, go to slowdownshow.org and sign up for our newsletter and find us on Instagram at slowdownshow and blueskylowdownshow.org the slowdown is written by me, Maggie Smith. Our lead producer is Micah Kielbon and our associate producer is Maria Wurtel. Engineering by Derek Ramirez. Our digital producer is James Napoli. Additional production help by Susanna Sharpless, Cece Lucas and Lauren Humpert. Our editor is Joanne Griffith. Our music is composed by Kyle Andrews. Our executives in charge are Chandra Kavati and Mark Crowley.
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Look, it's hard being the pop culture friend. You're the one who knows exactly what new show is the most watched show on Netflix right now or you're on top of the film festival calendar. Whether you are that friend or you desperately need a friend like that allow Commotion to enter your group chat. It's a podcast hosted by me, El Ameen Abdul Mahmoud, where I talk to people about the arts and entertainment stories that you need to know and we share all the recommendations of what you should be reading or watching or listening to. Find Commotion wherever you get your podcasts.
Host: Maggie Smith
Date: August 29, 2025
In this episode of “The Slowdown,” host Maggie Smith reflects on the complexities of human coexistence with nature, using her recent family trip to a lake as an entry point. Through her storytelling and the featured poem “Lake” by Noah Falck, Smith considers how natural beauty is both enriched and diminished by human presence, and how poetry invites us to hold space for both appreciation and mourning of the landscapes around us.
“At times like that, it's hard not to feel like we humans are in the way.” (02:54)
“The view of the water and trees and sky is better without jet skis and rafts and parasailers. The view of the lake is better when it's nothing but lake. I feel this even driving in my city, my view of the clouds and trees obscured by warehouses and high rises and radio towers.” (03:40)
“We don't have to go to the water or the forest or the mountains for nature. Nature is all around us all the time. We coexist, but sometimes the society we've built makes it hard to notice.” (04:06)
Maggie Smith reads “Lake” in its entirety, allowing Falck’s imagery to speak for itself. The poem vividly paints a lake overrun by human activity:
“Sick with boats, sick with people in swimwear,
the water bright with tidal plastic at sunset
the lake is a city memorizing the sky
stuck on orange meets pink meets the last part of a never before blue.
It's a ruined work of art now clouded gray, gone shirtless.
Men point to every moving thing on the horizon.” (Read from 04:24)
Tone: The poem is both elegiac and visual, echoing Maggie’s earlier sentiments about presence and loss.
Maggie Smith uses gentle storytelling and the evocative power of poetry to inspire listeners to examine their relationship with the natural world, balancing awe and accountability. The episode encourages mindfulness, humility, and empathy as we move through landscapes altered by human hands.