Last weekend when we were camping, I took this picture.
New Brunswick is full of covered bridges, including the longest in the world in Hartland. When I was a teenager, I lived in a small village called Welsford. We had a covered bridge. One winter, it snowed and snowed. We had so many snow days that winter they considered tacking on an extra week at the end of the school year. That Spring, it rained. And rained. And the snow melted. And there were floods. The river had risen so much that the covered bridge floated from its moorings.
With my Dad and sisters, along with most of Welsford, I watched the covered bridge float away. It floated about a city block down the river and then suddenly it stopped. There the bridge sat with water flowing around it, it was an odd sight.
The army boys came down and said they could tow it back up to its moorings just as soon as the river was at its proper level. When the water went down, we could see the reason it has stopped; the bridge was perched on the banks of the river. That night a dusting of snow came down; it was such a small amount one could hardly say it even snowed. Unfortunately it proved too much for the old bridge and the next day it collapsed where it sat.
The people of Welsford rallied to have the covered bridge replaced. We were told that no one knew how to make them anymore. The Army came in and made temporary bridge for the people who lived on the other side of the river. Eventually, they replaced it with a permanent bridge that stands to this day.
The day of the flood, my Father took many pictures of the water. We also climbed the mountain in Welsford and took pictures of the overflowed river. Unfortunately none of the pictures turned out because we discovered the camera was broken and the film had not advanced. I do not need pictures; I will remember the view from the top of the mountain for the rest of my life.