The Bridge

Things that seem so unimportant during one point in life during a later time in life hold some of our sweetest memories. The bridge that crossed Burnt Mill Creek near the railroad tracks is just one of those little unimportant places that takes a little space in my memory that at the time of my youth was just another object that went unnoticed on Mercer Avenue. For me it was where I went to spend many a summer afternoon sitting for hours on the cement side of the bridge about 1/2 mile down the road from my house. I would spend my time watching the small fish swim and water spiders walk across the small stream. Those little long legged critters always amazed me walking on top of the water. We would fish or build a dam out sticks and rocks or what ever was available near by, making a small swimming hole to play in. On a hot summer day there wasn't a cooler spot on Mercer Avenue than the shade of the trees that cast their shadows on the bridge and creek. This part of the creek was extremely shallow except for a few fishing holes on the south side, but in those holes would be frogs, fish, turtles and eels. Of course there was always the chance of a snake but we usually made enough noise the snakes would find quieter spots along the creek to sun themselves. It was great for wading and pretending you were Tom Sawyer or a Marine in the jungles of some South Pacific island. My generation’s heroes were the World War 2 and Korean War veterans. The French were still in a yet unknown country of Vietnam on the other side of the world and war was still a game and the good guys always won and no one was really hurt. My generation would learn in only a few short years in Vietnam that war was real and lasted a lifetime not just in the battles of a jungle, but scars of the mind. I am sure every child that lived on Mercer Avenue and surrounding neighborhoods had similar memories.