River
I had to walk home tonight and stopped for a while on the Allen Street bridge over the Cowlitz River. Usually if I stand still for more than ten seconds or so someone will lean out a car window and shout "Jump!" but tonight everyone going by was polite, even the sidewalk cyclists who shouted out cheerfully to let me know they were passing behind me, in case I stepped back suddenly.
Light like that makes me wish I could watercolor....deep blueblack under the bridge and against the dikes, deep greenblack at a bend in the river reflecting tall trees, cut by a streak of silver where the water ripples across a sand bar. In between, reflecting sky, bands of pink, peach, mauve, gold, turquoise, then sky blue shading down to black, all freckled with silver where the fish are striking. Swallows dart down to the surface. Water fast and slick and powerful. Sometimes there are seals here, following the smelt and salmon fifty miles or so upstream from the ocean, but not tonight.
To the left, south Kelso and a picturesque little brick railway station. To the right, west Kelso and the Hall of Justice, an ugly block of concrete topped with radio towers. (People speak of Kelso as if it were in thirds: north and south Kelso, both east of the river, and West Kelso, divided from the rest by the river.)
When I turn my back to the view, I get another one. I can see the river running down towards me--reflecting pink and lavender--cut by three bridges.
First the one I'm on, a big concrete arch with bronze statues at four corners pinning it to the earth (owl, two otters, two trout, two more trout). This bridge, for a while, was known locally as the new new bridge, replacing the old bridge. The old bridge was a steel drawbridge built in the 1920s.
The next bridge up, the Cowlitz Way bridge, was once known as the new bridge. It was built in the 1940s, one of those green girder steel bridges and people called it the new bridge for the next 50 or so years, because it was new compared to the old bridge. People used to give directions here like that: "Take the old bridge and go right at the first light." The bridges are only three blocks apart.
When people say to go across the new new bridge, everyone understands which bridge. But if they say the old bridge, they hesitate, then try to clarify it "I mean the old bridge that was the new bridge, the old new bridge." If they try to elaborate, they find themselves going in circles. Then they hesitate again and try again with a physical description or street name.
Beyond the newly-old bridge, in the misty pink distance, is the third bridge, a railway bridge, a pale straight line drawn across the river. I suppose it has a name, but since it never comes up in driving directions, it doesn't come up in conversation.
Light like that makes me wish I could watercolor....deep blueblack under the bridge and against the dikes, deep greenblack at a bend in the river reflecting tall trees, cut by a streak of silver where the water ripples across a sand bar. In between, reflecting sky, bands of pink, peach, mauve, gold, turquoise, then sky blue shading down to black, all freckled with silver where the fish are striking. Swallows dart down to the surface. Water fast and slick and powerful. Sometimes there are seals here, following the smelt and salmon fifty miles or so upstream from the ocean, but not tonight.
To the left, south Kelso and a picturesque little brick railway station. To the right, west Kelso and the Hall of Justice, an ugly block of concrete topped with radio towers. (People speak of Kelso as if it were in thirds: north and south Kelso, both east of the river, and West Kelso, divided from the rest by the river.)
When I turn my back to the view, I get another one. I can see the river running down towards me--reflecting pink and lavender--cut by three bridges.
First the one I'm on, a big concrete arch with bronze statues at four corners pinning it to the earth (owl, two otters, two trout, two more trout). This bridge, for a while, was known locally as the new new bridge, replacing the old bridge. The old bridge was a steel drawbridge built in the 1920s.
The next bridge up, the Cowlitz Way bridge, was once known as the new bridge. It was built in the 1940s, one of those green girder steel bridges and people called it the new bridge for the next 50 or so years, because it was new compared to the old bridge. People used to give directions here like that: "Take the old bridge and go right at the first light." The bridges are only three blocks apart.
When people say to go across the new new bridge, everyone understands which bridge. But if they say the old bridge, they hesitate, then try to clarify it "I mean the old bridge that was the new bridge, the old new bridge." If they try to elaborate, they find themselves going in circles. Then they hesitate again and try again with a physical description or street name.
Beyond the newly-old bridge, in the misty pink distance, is the third bridge, a railway bridge, a pale straight line drawn across the river. I suppose it has a name, but since it never comes up in driving directions, it doesn't come up in conversation.
2 Comments:
Liked this tangle of old, old/old/new. It reminds me of a scene in the movie, Shadowlands. C. S. Lewis is giving the woman who will become his wife a tour of Magdalen College, Oxford. He refers to the building where he has his rooms as "the new building." Of course "new" is relative; this particular part of the college was built in the early 1700s!
As I live outside of Portland, OR, we are nearly neighbors, relatively speaking. I'll think of you the next time I watch my part of the NW sky.
Wow! Kelso! That is that confusing part of the world where my daughter (a Bellinghamster) always gets lost at Thanksgiving, when she is on her way to meet us at Cannon Beach, OR. Thanks for the explanation of the confustion!
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