Submitted June 15, 2008 by Stephen Clifford
There's this wonderful place in Maine with a bridge that connects two towns. Under this bridge runs tidal waters deep enough to allow fairly good sized sailing vessels pass through when the bridge is spun open. This is only accomplished by the boater signaling to the bridge tender that he would like to pass through, whether it be by radio, hand signals, or just plain hollering to each other.
I was on my way back to Portland from a job one day in this town when, as I crossed the bridge, decided to stop on the other side and check out the spot on the bridge where my grandfather took me to catch mackerel. Looking into the water below I wondered if anyone has caught any fish here recently. For it was near thirty five years ago that I remembered the mackerel being so plentiful that everyone on the bridge was catching their fair share of the fish. At that moment the bridge tender came out of his watch shack to get a bit of fresh air. So I asked him if he has caught any fish lately. He said no, there haven't been many fish here lately. He asked me if I was from out of state. I said no, in fact I was born here in this town in the hospital just a few hundred yards down the road. Well one question led to another and it turns out that he knew my grand parents and had a few stories to tell. I would like to thank the bridge tender for his friendly personality and his memories. And thanks to the Eastern Stars!
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