When I see old, covered bridges it makes me think of the past when men drove teams of horses carrying everything they had on their way west. Not long after, they carried supplies to pioneers living on the prairie we now call Wisconsin.
In more recent times these bridges supported heavy wagons loaded with supplies going north to large teams of men engaged in cutting down the forests in Northern Wisconsin and south on the return trip carrying logs destined for Chicago to rebuild the city after the great fire.
Small towns along the way flourished when roughhewn men took shelter after a long day of work.
One way covered bridges, and the bottleneck they caused along the dusty road offered shelter when heavy rain fell in sheets on warm summer days and a place for young lovers to hide from prying eyes and gossipy neighbors on cool fall nights.
This bridge built sometime before Jessica and Robert engaged in an illicit weekend romance they never disclosed inspires romantic thoughts of what was, and might have been if it hadn’t been raining on the day Robert left town.
I looked for a note from J advising Robert that dinner was at 6.
It was gone.
What I did find was a bit of nostalgia preserved alongside a rural country road.
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