View from a bridge. “Bridge over troubled water”. Mending bridges. Bridging the gap.

From our house on Neff Road, we could walk to four of them. Four bridges. One was close to
the end of the lane. One was by my Grandfather’s place. Another was around the corner and
on Red River/West Grove Road. The last was by my old elementary school on Hogpath Road.
A true wealth of bridges we possessed.

Bridges that separate us yet draw us together. In the olden days, the creek (the same one
running under all four bridges) was forded on foot or by a horse rider or one pulling a buggy.
Bridges connecting one side to another.

In life we need bridges to “bridge” the gap between ages, differences, estrangements, literacy,
language, cultures, religions, sexes. Whew, I wasn’t done with my “bridgings” as they are
endless. We can either trek through the stream of disagreement or we can build a bridge.

Differences come in so many ways during our lives. Differences that can be bridged with
kindness and understanding. Those that enhance our lives. Those that tear apart instead of
pulling together. So many types of bridges. So many ways to decide if you need a bridge or
wet feet.

I never thought of the number of bridges over our little creek. We were more aware when the
old truss bridges were replaced. The creaking of the bridge disappeared. We actually mourned
the loss of the bridges as they held our memories.

Two of those old bridges I walked often. We tossed stones off them. We played under them. It’s as if we failed to think about how many bridges we had, as most people don’t have any. Yet our little creek insisted on having four near our farm. The four I saw most every day.

Bridges. So many kinds. They make travel easier, and do the same for life.

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Pamela Loxley Drake is a Beaverton resident and self-described lifelong “farm girl.” You can contact her at pamldrake@gmail.com.