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Friday, March 29, 2013
Thursday, March 28, 2013
Bridge to the Past
When my grandmother passed away December of 2011, I was devastated. I loved my grandparents so very much, and having lost my grandfather at the tender age of 13, I clung to every story and recipe my grandmother, who was my last remaining grandparent, could possibly tell me. I watched her closely when she made her fried chicken, which was her signature dish. My mom was always so upset that she could never get the recipe quite right, and when I grew up, I was able to get a little closer than mom, but still fell short of the awesomeness that was my grandma's fried chicken.
My grandma lived in Wyoming when she passed, and grandpa is buried in Kansas City. So my mom made arrangements and we all packed into a truck with a trailer carrying my precious grandmother, and my car, and made the long journey to Kansas City. For those curious, it's about an 18 hour drive. Usually, we'd stop about an hour somewhere along the way and stretch our legs or take a nap. But this time was different. This time we were on a very tight schedule.
We ended up stopping in Chamberlain, SD, which is about halfway across South Dakota. When you travel on Interstate 90, you cross what is known as the Lewis and Clark Memorial Bridge, under which the might Missouri River flows. In the past, I'd always wanted to stop at the rest area perched above this bridge and take photos, but I didn't have the right camera, or we didn't have the time. Luckily, this time my dad needed a pit stop (he loves his coffee in the morning lol), so I immediately grabbed my camera and headed for the hill.
It was a cool, crisp December morning. There was no snow, but it was definitely chilly. The sounds of the wind, the river, and the highway were soothing as I found my perfect spot and started snapping pictures. Too soon, however, we had to go, but not before I was able to capture the beauty of this place.
Ladies and gentleman, I give you the Lewis and Clark Memorial Bridge:
Isn't it beautiful? I would have loved a little sunshine, but given the occasion, I think it captured my mood completely.
So for the past couple years, I've had this photo, only thinking about it on occasion. I was going through the photos of 2011, and I came across it. What really threw me is all of a sudden I remembered another bridge, one much smaller and from a long time ago.
When I was a kid, there was a park just down the street from where my grandparents lived called Waterworks. It's still there, but very different from about 20 years ago. But there was this very old, very rusty bridge with a rusty net walkway that had a small creek running under it. It never used to terrify me until the day my grandpa and I went for a walk and when we got to the bridge, the creek was nearly flooded and the water was rushing fast underneath just a couple inches from the walkway. As a kid, I must have been about 7 or 8, I was terrified of that bridge!!! I still am afraid of old flooded or icy bridges, always scared I'm going to slide off or get swept away! But my grandpa, my dear sweet grandpa, he was right there beside me and coaxed me over the bridge to get home. I don't remember exactly what he said, but I do know that he never gave up on me and made me face my fears.
Even today, as life challenges me in new ways everyday, I still can remember how encouraging he always was. Now, when I look at this picture, I think of how ironic it all is. One of the first memories I can clearly recall of my grandpa, and the final journey for my grandma both include bridges, and crossing over them. They say that bridges symbolize important transitions, especially of the spiritual nature, and in this case, I would find that plausible. My spirit grew and faced fears, and my spirit weeped and faced finality. But no matter what bridges I will face in the future, I am ready. For I know my grandparents are watching over me and guiding me with the love they gave me and the love they still give me when I'm at the bottom of the barrel. Because of them, I didn't give up as a kid, and I'll never give up now.
My grandma lived in Wyoming when she passed, and grandpa is buried in Kansas City. So my mom made arrangements and we all packed into a truck with a trailer carrying my precious grandmother, and my car, and made the long journey to Kansas City. For those curious, it's about an 18 hour drive. Usually, we'd stop about an hour somewhere along the way and stretch our legs or take a nap. But this time was different. This time we were on a very tight schedule.
We ended up stopping in Chamberlain, SD, which is about halfway across South Dakota. When you travel on Interstate 90, you cross what is known as the Lewis and Clark Memorial Bridge, under which the might Missouri River flows. In the past, I'd always wanted to stop at the rest area perched above this bridge and take photos, but I didn't have the right camera, or we didn't have the time. Luckily, this time my dad needed a pit stop (he loves his coffee in the morning lol), so I immediately grabbed my camera and headed for the hill.
It was a cool, crisp December morning. There was no snow, but it was definitely chilly. The sounds of the wind, the river, and the highway were soothing as I found my perfect spot and started snapping pictures. Too soon, however, we had to go, but not before I was able to capture the beauty of this place.
Ladies and gentleman, I give you the Lewis and Clark Memorial Bridge:
Isn't it beautiful? I would have loved a little sunshine, but given the occasion, I think it captured my mood completely.
So for the past couple years, I've had this photo, only thinking about it on occasion. I was going through the photos of 2011, and I came across it. What really threw me is all of a sudden I remembered another bridge, one much smaller and from a long time ago.
When I was a kid, there was a park just down the street from where my grandparents lived called Waterworks. It's still there, but very different from about 20 years ago. But there was this very old, very rusty bridge with a rusty net walkway that had a small creek running under it. It never used to terrify me until the day my grandpa and I went for a walk and when we got to the bridge, the creek was nearly flooded and the water was rushing fast underneath just a couple inches from the walkway. As a kid, I must have been about 7 or 8, I was terrified of that bridge!!! I still am afraid of old flooded or icy bridges, always scared I'm going to slide off or get swept away! But my grandpa, my dear sweet grandpa, he was right there beside me and coaxed me over the bridge to get home. I don't remember exactly what he said, but I do know that he never gave up on me and made me face my fears.
Even today, as life challenges me in new ways everyday, I still can remember how encouraging he always was. Now, when I look at this picture, I think of how ironic it all is. One of the first memories I can clearly recall of my grandpa, and the final journey for my grandma both include bridges, and crossing over them. They say that bridges symbolize important transitions, especially of the spiritual nature, and in this case, I would find that plausible. My spirit grew and faced fears, and my spirit weeped and faced finality. But no matter what bridges I will face in the future, I am ready. For I know my grandparents are watching over me and guiding me with the love they gave me and the love they still give me when I'm at the bottom of the barrel. Because of them, I didn't give up as a kid, and I'll never give up now.
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