We decided to settle down for two night in northern Vermont so we could do a scenic drive up toward the Canadian border today. We had finished a great lunch at a very busy Cajun restaurant suggested by a women having a barn sale and were just about ready to turn east and then back south when we crested a hill and saw this old barn. I could hear it calling my name.
I had some fun thinking about the best way to capture the texture and color, taking a few photos. I wondered about who built it, how it was used, about all the winters that weathered it’s exteriors. I wonder who hung the saw blade and snow shoes – who had used them in the normal course of their existence?
We had turned onto a side road to get safely off the busy road we had been on. When we turned around and started back I saw the most beautiful part of this complex of barns.
I have enjoyed looking at the old homes and barns in these New England states, how they were added onto as a need for more space arose. I marvel at how added walls butt up to the existing building and roof lines merge, sometimes gracefully, sometimes not so much. And I wonder what stories are attached with each new addition.
JB saw a covered bridge as we were traveling across northern Vermont on Wednesday, but there was no place to pull over on the two-lane highway we were traveling. This happens a lot, when I see the most beautiful barn or mountain view or small town center or church. I’ve missed so many beautiful images that we may go home the same way in the hopes that there will be a place to pull off next time.
Then we saw it, another covered bridge and there appeared to be a pull off. As we slowed down, JB analyzed whether there was enough room in the parking lot for us to turn our truck and travel trailer around. We’ve gotten into a few places where we appeared stuck with no place to go. We explored a dam and power house only to discover that we could only turn around with the help of some ducks who walked beside the truck squawking out instructions – or maybe they were telling us how stupid we were for getting in that fix. I couldn’t interpret all that they said. This time we thought it safe to pull in.
I read the sign and JB walked down to the small viewing platform. I followed and while I was unsuccessfully trying to capture the beauty of the bridge, JB was exploring the small set of steps leading to the rails. As I was contemplating how to lift myself up on the first step that was knee high, JB was exclaiming how the upper steps were carpeted and very slippery. He made it to the top while I was still contemplating how to get up that first step.
It wasn’t an easy climb, or maybe more accurately it was a scary climb. It was hard because my body isn’t as strong and limber as ‘once upon a time’ and it was scary because the dangers of falling are real and could be devastating at my age. But some adventures are worth the risk and this was one of them – however, on my way up I was contemplating how I would get down and didn’t like the options.
The historical sign said it was still a working track, but the tracks said otherwise. It had been a long time since a train ran on these. As I was happily clicking away, I noticed JB had found a stone path leading towards the highway. Such mercy I am granted.
We didn’t see this sign until we passed it from the back side. A little icing on the cake of exploration we already knew we probably shouldn’t be doing.
It was difficult taking photos of the bridge because it is becoming overgrown with trees and the midday sun was harsh, but on the walk down the highway back to the parking lot, I was able to photograph the cupola (the lead photo) that let smoke from the engine out. Here is the historical marker for those who would like to know a little more about this covered bridge.