Monday afternoon while out on a drive to catch a little autumn splendor before it was all gone I found myself on a sentimental journey. My Grandfather was an avid fisherman and he and Grandma used to take us to the river swimming and fishing. I hadn't been to the spot in over twenty years. The ride out the long road was like going back in time. Not much had changed. Until - I came to the river. When I came to a huge bridge I knew my 'spot' was underneath. It was hard to find a place to park so I managed to pull just off the road and start my walk. This first shot is looking down on what remains of the old road we drove across, walked across to go swimming and sometimes fished from the top of. I was heartbroken.
A little further down the hill you can see just how high the new bridge is above the riverbank.
When I walked across what remained of the old bridge I took a picture where the road ended and looked at some of the pieces left behind in the dark murky water. The grey clouds reflected in the water seemed fitting to the hurt I felt inside. So many happy times had been spent here with family and friends; but especially with Pap and Grandma.
The rushing water over the rocks seemed to correspond with the jumbled thoughts and emotions swirling around in my mind.
I stood at the end of the jagged bridge and looked upstream and imagined all those years ago. Where the left pillar of the bridge stood was once the sandy beach where we played and waded out into the river under watchful eyes of loved ones - where a group of friends frolicked that last summer before college.
Turning to walk back across the crumbling bridge I stopped to 'see' Grandpa fishing from his favorite side of the river if he wasn't sitting in the corner by one of the culverts that let the water flow under the bridge. My brother and I often walked that side of the river and often came upon dead snakes. We knew they were there and most often smelled them before we saw them. To this day I'd know that smell anywhere. At the top of the bank I can barely see a road. Signs say it's posted now. Many times Grandma and I would walk a worn path and look for 'greens'. She always had to help me find the right ones to pick. I guess it was our 'poke salad.'
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