Canal Bridge
In my travels around Facebook, I wander back to places I’ve been before. I grew up in a small town on the Jersey coast, lived there until I was 15. Found a “page†called “Down the Shore†which is Jersey-ese for Going Down to the Beach or Going down to the Sea, or Going to the Ocean. Note that there is no “to†in there. It simply is not said. Ever. You get in the car and go down the shore. That’s it.
Alas, this bridge is no more, having been replaced by a larger, more modern and taller bridge that does not need to be drawn up every time a sailboat goes from the Barnegat Bay up to the Manasquan River. No need for the little house on the bridge, and the older men who were always in there, to operate the bridge controls. Also gone are the horrendous traffic jams for miles that occurred each time the bridge was up.
For a time, I lived on one side of the canal, the northern end of the Intracoastal Waterway, and went to school on the other side. I did this for 1st grade, then again for 6-8th grades. So as a wee first grader, I had to walk across this bridge every day by myself. I still remember the cold wind that came down that canal, like a wind tunnel, all winter long.
As an adult, and going back as far as I can remember, I’ve had an ungodly fear of heights. I don’t fly. I can’t look down from UP. I get nervous on a step-stool. Perhaps it all began here.
