The One Design Question Every Great Lakes Town Should Ask Before It Builds Anything

The Great Lakes are not merely a backdrop; they are the metabolic heart of our region. Holding twenty percent of the world's surface freshwater, these basins dictate the climate, the economy, and the very identity of the North. Yet, when we step into the halls of municipal planning or walk the aisles of a new development site, the lakes often feel miles away: abstracted into blue shapes on a map rather than a living system that begins at the edge of every roof and the lip of every gutter.

A career-long observation: there is a default mode of community development that is hard to escape. It is a mode characterized by the swift removal of "problems." In this paradigm, rain is a problem. Snowmelt is an inconvenience. Both must be ushered away as quickly as possible through a hidden geometry of pipes, culverts, and concrete channels.

There is, however, a single, powerful question that can pivot a town from a mindset of extraction to one of stewardship. It is a question that demands an honest accounting of our physical reality: "Where does the water go?"

The Mirage of "Away"

When we ask where the water goes, we break the illusion of "away." In a watershed, there is no such thing as "away." Every drop of rain that falls on a suburban driveway in Waukesha or a parking lot in Cleveland has a destination. If the surface is impervious — asphalt, concrete, or compacted turf — that water cannot penetrate the soil. Instead, it gathers speed, heat, and pollutants, rushing toward the nearest storm drain.

From there, the story is often one of unintended consequences. In many of our older Great Lakes cities, this rush of stormwater enters combined sewer systems. During heavy rains, these systems become overwhelmed, leading to overflows that discharge untreated sewage directly into the lakes. We spend millions on sophisticated water treatment plants, yet we continue to design towns that actively undermine the very water quality those plants are built to protect. It is a profound irony of the modern built environment: we treat the lake as a resource at the intake pipe and a waste bin at the outfall.

Systems Thinking on the Ground

Asking "Where does the water go?" forces a transition from isolated engineering to systems-level design. It requires us to look beyond the property line.

If you are building a new library, a school, or a mixed-use development, and the answer to our question is "into a pipe that leads to the river," you have missed an opportunity for civic contribution. When a town starts asking this question consistently, the landscape begins to change.

• From Pavement to Permeability: We begin to see surface parking not as a necessity, but as a liability. We pivot to permeable pavers that allow the earth to breathe and absorb.
• From Culverts to Bioswales: Instead of burying the water in dark, expensive concrete, we bring it to the surface. A bioswale is not just a ditch; it is a living filter. It slows the water, cools it, and uses native plants to scrub out nitrogen and phosphorus before the water ever reaches the lake.
• From Lawns to Rain Gardens: The traditional American lawn is, hydrologically speaking, nearly as impervious as concrete. By replacing segments of "mown-and-blown" turf with deep-rooted native prairie plants, we create "sponges" that manage water where it falls.

The Hidden Connections

This inquiry reveals the interconnectedness of our communities. When an upstream town ignores where their water goes, a downstream town pays for it in flood damage and eroded creek beds. Watershed thinking is, at its core, an exercise in civic will. It asks us to acknowledge that our private decisions have public consequences.

Consider the humble culvert. It is designed to move water under a road. But if it is too small, it creates a bottleneck that floods the neighbor. If it is too large and smooth, it shoots water downstream with the force of a firehose, destroying fish habitats. When we design with the watershed in mind, we stop seeing water as a line on a blueprint and start seeing it as a pulse through the landscape.

A Path Forward: The Watershed Audit

So, what happens when a town commits to this question?

It begins with an audit of the obvious. We look at the "low-hanging fruit" of municipal design: the wide, sun-baked streets and the vast, empty parking lots. We ask how these spaces can be reimagined to serve the water cycle. We prioritize human-centered design that also respects the geological reality of our region.

This is not about alarmism or radical change; it is about practical necessity. As the Great Lakes region faces more frequent and intense rain events, the old infrastructure of removal will fail. The only resilient path forward is one that mimics the natural hydrology of the Great Lakes basin.

We must design our towns to act like the forests and prairies they replaced. We must build with the humility of an observer who understands that the willow bends for a reason and the marsh exists to filter.

Every time we break ground, we have a choice. We can continue to fight the water, or we can invite it back into the landscape as a managed, celebrated guest. It all starts with one question. Ask it at the next planning commission meeting. Ask it of your architect. Ask it of your neighbor.

Where does the water go?

The answer will tell you everything you need to know about the future of your community.