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This photo reminds me of the story I was told by my husband; whose father drove the train here in our town for years and years.
Before we were married, we would take long drives admiring nature and the wondrous world around us. One day, we came upon a body of water where there remained half of a railroad bridge. Ray told me that his father broke that bridge....
Apparently, there was a day when his father, driving the train, came to a horrendous stop. The bridge collapsed before them.
The train was not a carrier of passengers, but did carry the workers to each destination. I don't recall whether anyone was hurt or not but I do know my feeling as I looked at that half bridge remaining.
I have this feeling of knee-knocking fear when standing upon a bridge such as this. I can't imagine how his father must have felt that day, or each day there after as he approached these bodies of water on a bridge.
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