Under the Bridge, Down by the River

I took the day off, for I am in use-it-or-lose-it-ville with vacation time. And so my husband and I went on a big adventure. First, we stopped at Jim's in Bellefonte and got two Italian hoagies, which we ate at Governor's Park. Then we got on I-80 and went for a drive, ending up at a parking lot and a bridge we used to visit 30 or more years ago.

There is graffiti under the bridge, and I took a few weird photos, including this one. The graffiti was interesting to me, in the way that all works of art are. If it were on rocks in the wilderness, I might be upset about it. But beneath a bridge? Who would even care?

So I was up under the bridge investigating and my husband was down below, when I took this shot. There is the all-seeing eye in the middle of things. There might be a bad word here and there. And on the right are the words: RIP Jimi Brooks.

Of course, when I see a name like that, I must go and investigate. But the only news I could find online about Jimi Brooks were stories about a winery in Oregon, inherited by an 8-yr-old boy when his 38-yr-old father died of a heart attack. So who knows if that's even the right one. But it's the story I found. So rest in peace, Jimi, though we hardly knew ye.

Back in the day, you used to be able to hike around the river's edge and up the hill, but there are No Trespassing signs all over the place now. So we didn't really get to hike much, though we did wander down to the river and discover some beaver cuts on several local trees.

From there, we headed to Sproul State Forest for a little hike. We went to the hill where we used to sled ride in the winter time. They are clearing some of the trees along the edge to make it wider. I wasn't too happy about that, but it did look sort of weird and interesting, so you may see a photo of the view down our old sledding hill in the extras.

We walked down the other side of the hill and into the woods, where we sat in our chairs and listened to music and enjoyed the stream. On the way, we passed the spot where an old, rusting-out car used to be. But much to our surprise, that car is gone now!

Its rust was almost poetic, a memento mori perhaps, a statement of the way things go: nature takes all things back, in the end. I always thought that car and I would grow old together, and that I'd photograph it year after year until it crumbled into dust, but now it is gone, long gone! How very strange!

I find I have TWO soundtrack songs for this day. The first is for the bridge and the river: Neil Young and Crazy Horse, with Down By the River. The second is a nostalgic meditation, looking back in time, as I found myself doing on this day: Queen, with These Are the Days of Our Lives.