drifting on the rapids of the cedar

this bridge has been such a part of my mystical life. the words Sutliff Bridge always conjured up magical elements for me as a child.

this was the bridge my mom spoke of running across in her childhood and playing on with her cousins. the bridge my granddad crossed countless times to play stickball on the opposite bank. the same one he had to drive a Tin Lizzy across to prove to his dad that he was ready to get his driver's permit at 14.

this is the bridge my mom made my dad drive across in the early 1970's -- probably as a final test to see if he was made of the stuff she wanted in a husband; a test to see if she was going to let him propose to her... (btw, my dad still curses that bridge out and mum and I've decided he's rather happy the damn thing's been swept away now)

this is the bridge i stepped out on but my fear of heights and intense vertigo kept me from getting more than 13 feet out on -- though that experience is the one that cemented my Iowa origins ... Sutliff is smaller than small town and even i always recognized that, but felt lucky to say my family was from it.

and now it's gone. A bridge that survived '65 and '93 and survived being demolished on countless times... gone to the wrath that is mother nature and a wrath that is constantly re-proving that this year is going to be even more severe than that of '93... which was suppose to be the worst it ever could be.

It's just physical proof of what I always knew to be truth. But it's the physical proof of the mysticism that is the very essence of my marrow and knowing it's gone -- when knowing that it stood though i haven't seen it in over a decade helped to ground me to my roots -- causes an ache in my very bones.

http://www.kcrg.com/younews/19903804.html