Today is a cold spring day. It’s even cold in the house because it is the end of April, after all, so I can’t bring myself to turn on the heat. Cold. Damp. Can’t let the weather get in your head. Bad juju. I wondered what images the internet would deliver if I googled “Cold Spring.”
For the most part: bridges. Ha! Didn’t see that coming.
Turns out there are lots of bridges in the world either named Cold Spring, or near a town named Cold Spring, or over a valley named Cold Spring.
The photo in this post is one such bridge: Cold Spring Canyon Bridge in Santa Barbara, California is 400 feet high and has a 700 foot span. Built in 1963, it is one of the highest bridges in the United States. The photo alone gives me cold chills.
When Chase was younger he talked often about building a bridge like this one. To Europe. He doesn’t talk about it anymore; perhaps he finally got the memo that it would be more of a challenge than he originally imagined. I miss his enthusiastic banter explaining how he will build the bridge.
A good bridge. That’s what this day needs. That’s what a cold spring needs. A bridge to the real spring. Sunny days. Spring fever. Baseball games to which spectators bring sunscreen instead of blankets. A bridge back to a time before we knew there were limits to what we could create.
Perhaps a cold spring is the price we pay for 85 degree days in February. If that’s the case, I want a refund.
I’ll take the cold in February in exchange for a predictable spring. Because a cold spring, like a high bridge, is just a little scary.