This Side of the Bridge

Growing up on the other side of the bridge I never knew village life-except for an occasional bike ride into town. I used to envy sidewalks and walkable delis – the proximity to school and friend’s houses-it was a ‘city mouse’ – ‘country mouse’ kind of feel -worlds apart- yet connected by that tiny bridge-and I know I’ve written about it in the past-but writing about it has made the division seem even more real.

I made that move some forty years ago-that mile or two across the bridge. I’ve settled into village life and sidewalks-and delis nearby.

The other five in our brood live on the other side of said bridge still-and I continue to be the outlier -close enough but far enough away- the bridge, requiring logistical planning and an endless excuse not to stop by or pick up and deliver goods. I know, I know it seems so trite but I can feel the division-it lives inside of me now.

We had no sidewalks in North Haven-I can’t picture a single one. I guess it made it easier for salamanders and turtles to cross the road. Bikes but no helmets, rides to the beach untethered in the back of pick-up trucks, dogs wandering about without collars or leashes, free reign, endless woods.

Honestly, we weren’t tethered by much- maybe just a dinner bell. In a country only 250 years old -we grew up at a time when safety measures, property lines and security issues - were all concepts in the development stages - living petri dishes we were-how amazing we survived.

And now, shall we not be concerned about running out of fresh air, having to protect ourselves from sunshine, seeing wildlife as obtrusive?

I have acclimated to this side of the bridge-grateful for having experienced both. Morning saunters on sidewalks filled with seashells and footsteps of those who came before. Wondering what a move across the state or the country or the world might ultimately feel like – would the force of gravity weaken? Or the pull of home stay intact?

These days, I find myself quite content travelling far on melodies and recipes, farm stands and beach walks. A good novel, a cup of tea and the sound of birdsong seem to offer all the adventure I need. Home certainly is where the heart is-no matter what side of the bridge.