across the Musquodoboit
the green trestle bridge is no more
That old green trestle bridge is gone, dear reader.
For over fifty years, it was the gateway to the Eastern Shore - the heart of it - God’s country.
Each time I’ve crossed that bridge, I feel my whole being relax. Once crossed, I’m only fifteen minutes from my Nanny’s house, fifteen minutes from home.
I loved that bridge.
It’s being replaced by something new, something modern, something that doesn’t dominate the environment with its presence.
The new bridge?
It’s going to suck eggs.
I miss the old bridge.
As a thing? It’s built from a web of small, lattice like pieces of metal held together by thousands of rivets. Tall enough for a semi to roll under its top framework, it was an imposing structure. It seemed to say humans are here and we made a thing!
It’s comforting. You can see the engineering. You can see the strength. The bridge builders, with all of their rivets and welding were given a chance to ‘show their work’.
I love its crust of green paint that flakes off, thick as eggshells and as lovely as a ladies foundation and concealer.
The new bridge?
It will be seamless, without so much as a wrinkle. You know the kind - conjured up of concrete and manufactured steel trusses.
Instead of mostly open sides, mildly mired by a lattice of metal, this thing will have sidewalks.
There will be a bike lane.
Drivers in low slung cars won’t be able to see over it’s high, concrete sides.
Sure it will be more safe for everyone involved.
But safety is about as appealing as tepid, weak tea.
And?
You’ll lose the view of the rapids and fishing holes below.
It’ll be hard to tell if anyone is down there fishing at all.
How will one know to stop, walk down the bank and engage in an unwanted chin wag with an old friend?
Yesterday I rolled into Musquodoboit Harbour with feed for the horse and straw for the chickens. Though I was headed up the valley, it was a glorious day.
It was also the first time down that way since my Nanny moved into a nursing home.
Typically? I would have added an hour to my travels - fifteen minutes to her place, half an hour there, then fifteen minutes back.
Yesterday though? I had no reason to go.
Sure I could have visited my aunts and uncles, but they don’t quite have the same draw.
They don’t quite have the same gravity as my Nanny.
My Nanny’s a bit like that old bridge - she’s covered in lines and wrinkles - time’s way of showing its work.
And?
She’s not on the shore anymore.
So instead of going down for a visit and renewing myself in a place that I love, I chose to drive on.
One day I’ll visit the lake without my Nanny there.
When I do?
I imagine things won’t feel quite right.
But that’s a story for another day.
I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.
Until then?
I’ll visit her in the nursing home.
It’s safe and clean but sure lacks the view of her big yellow house.
Stay sunny, you fools!