Frankie's Bridge

Now that I am a gentleman land baron, ha-ha, I have, as promised, placed a new geocache somewhere in the wooded valley across the road from my house. It's called "Frankie's Bridge," the title being based on a local legend from days of yore.

 

Going back many years before I was born, the area that is now my neighborhood was mostly farmland, and even when I was a kid in the early 1960s, there was a horse stable and a small wooden bridge across the creek that meanders through the valley. A horse named Frankie lived down there, though I don't know who actually owned him.

 

One night, as Frankie was crossing the bridge, one of the planks broke beneath him. He toppled from the bridge and broke his leg, which resulted in him having to be put down. In the years that followed, the neighbors whispered that they sometimes heard Frankie crying out in pain late at night. Personally, I never heard any such sounds, but back when, certain neighbors swore it was true.

 

Nowadays, I don't know whether anyone around here even remembers Frankie's story, but it has always stood out in my mind. Sometimes at night, I'll go outside, gaze at the stars, and listen for any ghostly sounds out there in the dark, but alas... no such luck.

 

Anyway, after the cache's publication the other day, friend and fellow geocacher Skyhawk63 (a.k.a. Tom) came around to hunt the cache, and he earned the almost-coveted first-to-find honors. Afterward, he and I enjoyed a nice lunch at Be Wiched Diner uptown and then went our separate ways. I ventured over to Danville for a first-to-find of my own and then moved on to Caswell County, NC, to seek a few more caches.

 

In April, I'll be hosting a geocaching event here at home, so I'm sure most or all of the attendees will want to venture into the woods across the road to hunt Frankie's Bridge. 

Near the cache: all that now remains of Frankie's Bridge

In this photo from 2016, one beam of Frankie's bridge still remained alongside that sewer pipe;
below, a couple of views near the cache I took the other day

Cards Against Posterity

As the sole survivor of my immediate family, I often find myself reflecting on the profound influence of certain people, places, and events from my youth. Since my younger brother passed away a few years ago, I am the sole keeper of the memories of my family's life and times. When Phred was alive, he and I frequently took pleasure in sharing our most meaningful recollections of our days together as kids, our reverence for our parents, and our perspectives on the zeitgeist of the 1960s and 1970s. Apart from old photographs and a few sketchy diaries that we kept, the only first-hand knowledge of the most meaningful and intimate moments in our family's history resides in my brain. Of course, that's just how it is with life—and its inevitable passing. Whatever tangible marks one might leave behind, the most personal, intimate parts of ourselves simply depart.

Thanks to my fondness for revisiting much of the music my parents enjoyed, I find myself wanting to articulate some of my most vivid impressions from the mid-to-late 1960s and 1970s, when Mom and Dad were in their thirties and forties, if just as a little reminder to myself. So, I'm going to indulge the whim and see where it takes me.

My folks tended to be social animals. They frequently gathered with various other couples, and for me, the most memorable of these was when they hosted their regular Bridge Club at our house. We are talking a classy affair. There were generally four to six couples in attendance, and everyone dressed in their finest apparel. Mom didn't drink, but Dad was known to enjoy a few spirits from time to time. For Bridge Club (and whatever other gatherings they hosted), Mom always brought out the fancy china and drinking glasses, which had silver bands around the tops, and Dad filled the crystal decanters with bourbon and scotch. As they got themselves ready for the big event, Dad liked to put some music on our big console stereo, usually something in the easy-listening department. For a spell, his favorite was Frank Sinatra's "Days of Wine and Roses" album, which featured his version of "Moon River," otherwise made famous by Andy Williams. To this day, whenever I hear that song, whoever performs it, I think of Mom and Dad prepping for a social event, whether it be at our house or somewhere else.

Even though these were strictly adult events, I always found myself captivated at those times by what I perceived as a special magic in the house. Even when I went off to college, Mom and Dad were still active in numerous social—and, more importantly—philanthropic gatherings. My parents, whether in public or in the privacy of our home, were what I can only call classy, exceptionally decent human beings. Of course, they had their faults, shortcomings, and blind spots, as we all do. But Mom and Dad held themselves to such high standards in thought, word, and deed that I despair of ever being able to truly emulate them. Now, this last bit strays from my original reflective intent, but you know, sometimes that happens, and since this is me essentially rambling...there it is.

 

When I inherited our old house after Mom died, I kept all the surviving trappings of those bygone days. Brugger and I now use those old glasses, the china, the decanters to preserve what we can of that "classy" aspect of my family's history.

 

I suspect that I'll be occasionally posting other such ramblings. Join me if you like, but if not, I quite understand.

 

Till next time! 

Mom & Dad, circa 1963