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 …