Last week we added two new bridges on the Timelines trail. They aren’t large constructions but both allow us to keep our feet dry. The first bridge, near the end of the avenue of crabapple trees, avoids the ditch at the end of a culvert that goes underneath a road that connects our village of North Hatley to the neighbouring village of Sainte-Catherine-de-Hatley — formerly known as Katevale.
Over time we’ve made this ditch deeper and wider by driving through it in a small all-wheel vehicle.
The lines of the bridge are simple, a good fit for the straight allée that follows.
The cedar posts and planks will turn grey over the winter.
A smaller ditch on the trail needed a smaller bridge.
Some months ago we added a similar bridge at another point on the Timelines trail. Now we can comfortably cross the streams and drainage ditches.
Thinking of these two new bridges made me realize how many other bridges we have at Glen Villa, and how different they are from each other.
There is the big bridge on the road by our pond.
The bridge is public, the pond isn’t.
There is the little bridge covered with small round logs, that one of our grandchildren named the Troll Bridge.
I wanted moss to grow on the logs but the moss made the logs slippery so I let it die off.
There is the zig zag bridge in the Asian meadow.
A traditional Asian belief, that evil spirits move only in straight lines, accounts for the design of this zig zag bridge.
There is the gently curved foot bridge at the edge of the woods, designed to rise above high water in the spring run-off.
I took this photo when the bridge was new. The wood has now aged to a soft grey, blending into the surrounding forest.
And finally, there is the rock bridge that spans the stream that fills the Skating Pond.
We uncovered this rock when we dug the pond. My friend Myke suggested that it become a bridge. Good idea, Myke! It has worked well.
Not all bridges serve the same purpose. We needed a large bridge to cross the stream that separates our property from a neighbour’s. They were ok with the connection. And with the signs.
A nod to René Magritte? Crossing in the other direction, the signs are in French: Ce pont n’est pas … une métaphore.
Not all bridges are actual. Some are works of art, like this one made from girders that once supported an old covered bridge.
The sculptors Louise Doucet and Satoshi Saito named their sculpture Bridge Ascending. The fire that destroyed the bridge twisted the girders into curving forms.
Some bridges aren’t there at all, or are there only in the eye of a beholder looking upwards and out.
These storm clouds looked to me like a bridge to another world. The storm that followed was a doozy!
Who knows where this sky-bridge may lead? Or who can cross it, or when?
