THE BRIDGE

The dam broke again and the beavers didn't show up for the repair this time. All earlier breaks had been repaired within twenty-four hours, generally overnight. I waited for a few days and then I began to grieve, much more than seemed fitting for the event. Nature has arranged for beavers to move from place to place, but this family of beavers had become a part of my story. They became part of my story and then they moved on, leaving me behind. The beavers would not be coming back. Seeing that water tumble through the ever widening gap in the dam served as a daily reminder that my grandson would not be coming back either.

For almost three years I had awakened to my grandson's giggles and hugs and to his mom's hopes and dreams. It was a wonderful time of life. Then, they were gone and things weren't right and I couldn't make them right. My heart was broken and the man of my heart grieved with me. We found ourselves unable to do much of anything for a very long time. It felt like we were at the bottom of a deep well. It was dirty and dark and uncomfortable there but we didn't have the motivation to pull ourselves out.

Then, one morning I awoke to find myself alone in my sea of heartache. Abandoned again? Not hardly! Very soon I found myself holding on to a very familiar life preserver, while being lifted up and out of my misery. Russell, my husband, held my face in his hands and spoke carefully. He said that he had decided to rescue the two of us and that he had left the rest in God's capable hands. His rescue mission would not be an easy one but he knew exactly where to begin - in Big Turtle Swamp.

Russell's extreme distaste for my precious swamp is a vital part of this story. Besides his aversion to snakes and critters and the fact that mosquitoes find him quite tasty, Russell doesn't reap an ounce of joy from digging and hauling. Before that eventful day, he had never walked down those long stairs ....without being pulled and begged by a loved one. This day changed everything.

I awoke to find this beautiful soul I married sitting next to the swamp's edge, making his acquaintance with two large green frogs. This man knows that when nothing else can bring a smile to my face, a frog can. He had caught them and saved them in a bucket, waiting for me to come see. As he handed me the bucket, I smiled. Then I felt a little drop of heartache fall out of me and onto the ground. When I looked up and all around me, I found myself wrapped in the warmest hug ever. Russell hadn't even touched me, but he had touched my heart like never before.

There beside us were several bags of concrete, three stacks of pressure treated lumber, and hardware of all sorts. My computer loving indoor inventor had hauled all of these supplies down the 66 stone stairs to my swamp. Then, in the murky water he detests, he had spent his morning constructing a base for a bridge I had dreamed of.

This bridge mended a brokenness that I didn't even know I had. It brought us closer to family, to neighbors, to friends, to nature, but most of all, to each other. It helped me to move forward and it gave me a haven for rest. It served as my link to mystery and adventure and wildlife and beautiful growing things. But, most of all, it was a permanent bridge between my husband's heart and mine, tucked safely away from life's surprises.