After all the waiting, our little village bridge is done. All the finishing touches have been put on, the orange pilons are gone, the flashing signboards warning of closure and loose gravel are lined up at the side ready to be hauled away. A new sign points to destinations north and south lest anyone is confused about where they are going. It also points out camping grounds and how to find our esteemed local kayak manufacturers.
Brand new white lines keep us in our lane and show us exactly where to stop so we can spot traffic speeding up the hill below. Generous shoulders will please bike riders and village folk out for a stroll. Vast stretches of shining safety rail, much more than before, ensure we won’t slide into the deep ditch in the winter and shepherd us into the conservation area at the side. Our sweep of new pavement even has it’s first fast food litter decorating its edge.
No longer the teams and wagons picking their way nervously over the first narrow plank crossing by the mill pond. Eighteen wheelers can roar up the hill without a blink. Guillaume Demorest would be astonished. And proud that his rushing creek and quiet village manage to renew themselves over 200 hundred years since he first found the waterfall and declared he would stay. Wonder how the bridge will look 200 years from now.