Did I like walking a Rope Bridge?

Inspiration, the word itself conjures up visions of blue skies and bluer waters, lush foliage and wonderful music.  Perhaps for most however my daughter and I dance to a different drummer.   We find inspiration in children’s cartoons. 

My daughter Leisa is a jewellery artist. She works primarily in aluminum and sells under the name Leisa B.    While she was producing jewellery for the Christmas sales, she took a break to snuggle and watch cartoons with her four year old, Noah. A shadow on the wall caught her eye and Leisa translated that into a new ear ring design.

I too took inspiration from a cartoon. Mine is not as creative as my daughter’s’ but none the less, an idea was born.   The boys and I were watching cartoons and the animals were traversing a rope bridge, and I remembered my incident with the rope bridge.

Some fifty years ago, yes fifty! our family was visiting friends on the Miramichi.  This was a very interesting and beautiful area where one village flowed into the next. My Mother had always spoken of her friends in McNamee yet the youngsters referred to the locale as Priceville.  No matter, the road ran through and the river ran by.  There were few activities for children, and then someone suggested a walk.

Off we went, after we had trudged a fair distance we turned to the right onto a trail that which lead into bushes. I could hear water in the distance.  Then the path cleared and we were climbing wooden stairs.

How the bridge felt to me !

Up, up we went and suddenly we were on a platform. Stretching out from the platform was ….a wooden suspension bridge. The bridge stretched its toothpick like slats far, far across the river.  I soon made it clear that I was not going to cross THAT.  Heights have always bothered me; there is a family story about how I froze at the top of the Casa Loma staircase when I was seven.  Nor was I particularly athletic or well-coordinated.   Somehow the girls convinced me to come, I inched along with my hands in a death grip on the railing.  Part way out a boy came whizzing by us on a bicycle.  The bridge bucked and swayed, I was not sure if my heart would burst from its pounding or if it would simply stop. Finally I got the rythm and started walking, one foot after the other, looking at my friends and not down to the rushing river.

Then it happened,   boys at the far end of the bridge started to swing ithe bridge.  Yes, swing – as in pushing a swing and ever so slowly that swing was coming to us.  I am sure I cried, I imagined myself dashed over the side, or crumbled in fear and sliding through the meshwork.  My friends were responsible; one came behind me, one in front. We were all in body contact.

Bridge as it looks today

“Plant your feet, hang on to the top rope lightly,” as if!! 
“Now close your eyes and just pretend you are on a swing.” 
 I do not know how long it lasted.  Eventually we were still.  One of the girls gently turned me around.  I did not run, but I walked quickly back to our starting place.

I visited those friends all through my teen years.  We walked the rope bridge many times.  I never ran, never did anyone made the swing.  I never enjoyed the walk.

My Mother told me that the mothers of those girls had taken her to that same rope bridge. She had much the same experience.  Mother never went back.  My Father taught me to conquer my fears.

 No one asked me   Did I like walking a Rope Bridge?