Every morning I walk down the driveway, (mud path) to the wooden bridge. I unlock the gate, push it open and walk up the creaky boards that have been drizzled with dew. They creak from the screws that hold them in place to the great white oak stringer logs that span 30 ft across the mammoth creek. I spend much time on that bridge. It's not just boards, logs, rebar, concrete and gravel. It's the gateway to our future.
Saturday mornings I sit feet dangled over the edge, coffee in hand and watch the water flow.