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somnath_mondal
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There is romance in bridges. Consider the big ones made of steel that span the mighty rivers of our nation, the average-sized ones that make it possible for man to cross the little wooden bridges still found on many back roads where luck of motor traffic has left them virtually unchanged. We still have, and shall never forget, the little foot bridge that spans the fascinating streams of water that flow through the farm pastures and meadows.
All these bridges are so often taken for granted instead of appreciated. when you stop to think of it, some engineering was necessary for each one of them even for the small one that crosses the stream where the cattle drink every day and where little boys play hooky from school with a fishing pole, a line and some appetizing bait.
The view from a little foot bridge is probably the most charming of all. There are the rolling hills, the distant blue of the sky or the green of the meadow. As one stands on this bridge out in the quiet of the country, he can hear many sounds that are never heard by the city dweller the chirping of the crickets, the croaking of the bull frog, the singing of the wood thrush each one calling man to contemplate the beauty and mystery of life. The little foot bridge usually remains in the memory if one has learned to live it in his younger days when living was easy and care free.
There is a special feature of the country bridge that is now disappearing and that is the turnout on the roadway beside it. If the stream was a small one, the turnout permitted a person to drive his horse though the ford and up the opposite bank to the road again. In this way it was possible to water the horse without getting out of the vehicle.