One of my earliest memories was going to a birthday party and all the children running around in the front, landscaped garden. There was a small bridge over a small pond and as the other girls bounded over the bridge in their party dresses, I followed close behind. As I ran across, my foot slipped into the pond and my pretty new shoe filled with water and I quietly squelched forward, lingering further behind with embarrassment. I have memories of my dad and brothers running along the wooden piers that stretched out into the ocean. I would follow and notice the rotted boards, peering between the cracks to the deep blue sea below, wondering what menacing sea creatures lurked below the surface of the water. Gingerly, I would make my way towards them, the smell of seaweed and fish filling the air, the sound of fish flopping around in buckets while another man pulled his fishing line up, with a "Look at the size of this mighty fish!"
When I had just turned 5, a bridge in Victoria collapsed and thirty-five construction workers were killed. I don't know when I realised I had a fear of bridges and piers but it was certainly something I grew up with and I would avoid them as often as I could. When I was a teenager, my head filled with boys, summer and beaches, the youth group would go along to the beach for a picnic and out in the water, was a wooden structure that we'd swim out to and dive off. But that wasn' t a bridge really, so I enjoyed being a part of that.
In 2002, we went to the swinging bridge at Kootenai Falls, Montana and while Dave led everyone across the raging river on the swinging bridge, I stayed on the track watching them. They waved, I waved back. They beckoned and I shook my head firmly because I had seen Dave make that swinging bridge swing wildly and with my fear of bridges, I refused to heed their invitation. After they were back on my side of the bridge, they headed back up the track towards the car park and I lingered near the bridge. Dave must have sensed my hesitation and waited to see what I would do. The challenge was in his eyes and as I looked at him and looked at the bridge, for a moment I wavered. I asked him if he would cross it with me and he agreed with a bright smile. For a moment I trusted him and then I looked at the bridge, the river and reminded myself of what I had just seen when he had crossed over the bridge and we went and caught up to the rest of the group.
Years later, Dave and I went back to that bridge, with his daughter Liz. Dave crossed ahead first and when he was almost at the other side, we followed behind him. On the other side, there were more things to explore, rocks to climb and waters to splash in. The sun shone down on us and we were able to walk back across the bridge at the same time, my fear of bridges almost diminished. I felt satisfied that I had had the courage to walk across the swinging bridge.
After Dave passed away, Liz and I went to the swinging bridge again, with my son Nathan, his girlfriend and a couple of other people. For Liz and I, we were remembering that day a couple years ago and we were also honouring Dave with our courage, but it still wasn't a 'stroll in the park'. On our way back, we stopped in the middle of the bridge and took a photo of ourselves, with the sun beaming into our eyes.
Bridges. I will never forget the day I crossed the swinging bridge with Dave nor how much he encouraged me to take up challenges and succeed.
When I was growing up, I loved horses but it seemed a common passion with most girls at that age so I wasn't taken seriously. I had a couple of horse posters and my 'dream' horse was a thoroughbred with white markings on her face and I would dream of going riding out in the bush and coming home to my farm house, where I lived with my family. In the morning I would wake up from my dream, in a suburban house, leading a normal life, walking to school and riding my bike after school. As life went on and I got older, the dream of having my own horse seemed unrealistic for my life and I filed it away, every now and again taking it out to dust off the cobwebs and dream again before returning to reality.
When Dave asked me to marry him, he seemed to think he had nothing to offer and did not think that I would enjoy the life he was asking me to take on. I tried to reassure him that he was making my dreams come true but he thought I was too good to be true. After I'd been living there a couple months, I made it known that I wanted to find my 'own' horse. We had 20 acres and 2 horses already but I wanted one that was mine, so I started looking on Craig's List for my horse.
Dave was a long haul driver so not home very often and while he agreed that having my own horse would be good, I think he secretly wondered how I would be able to find the right horse at the right price. One weekend, Dianne (Dave's eldest daughter) and I drove for about an hour to look over a few horses selling at a ranch. There were a couple horses I liked but they didn't seem suitable for me and the one I really liked was too expensive.
It was an interesting experience and the owners told us, "Humans don't pick the horse, the horse picks their owner."
The next day we travelled to a place closer to home and I found myself falling in love with two thoroughbred horses, Stormy (4 years old) and Dee (5 years old). Stormy was so affectionate and she loved being petted and played with. Dianne would lean up against her and she wouldn't move. Dee, on the other hand, watched from a disance and at first, I thought she was 'stand offish'. As I couldn't choose between the two, I decided that I would buy one for Dave and one for me. Since Stormy (with the blue halter) was 17 hands high, she was the obvious choice for Dave and I willingly chose Dee for myself.
I had my heart set on the horses but had to convince Dave that they were our horses. He rode out with me, chatted to the owners, who he said were full of horse traders talk and who he felt might have exaggerated a little bit about the horses good qualities but he too fell in love with the horses. He told me they were so placid, the worst thing they would ever do, is stand on my foot to let me know of their displeasure.
I remembered his words when I was leading Dee from the horse trailer down to the pasture but it didn't hurt too much. We put Stormy and Dee in the corral and the other two horses, Magic, an 23 year old, almost all white paint, and Zane, a 6 yr old Arabian gelding were separated from them out in the pasture. Dee and Stormy were young and a little frightened and Dee knocked down the corral fence and got into the pasture. It was going to be a wild night so I went outside, tied up the fence a bit and Stormy was inside it and Dee was outside.
Every time I looked out the window, Dee was standing close to the corral fence where Stormy was penned in. If Zane or Magic went too close to the fence, she would run at them and chase them away. She was very protective of Stormy that night. The next morning before Dianne and I went to the fair, I let Stormy out of the corral too and hoped the horses would still be there when we returned later that afternoon.
In 2002, we went to the swinging bridge at Kootenai Falls, Montana and while Dave led everyone across the raging river on the swinging bridge, I stayed on the track watching them. They waved, I waved back. They beckoned and I shook my head firmly because I had seen Dave make that swinging bridge swing wildly and with my fear of bridges, I refused to heed their invitation. After they were back on my side of the bridge, they headed back up the track towards the car park and I lingered near the bridge. Dave must have sensed my hesitation and waited to see what I would do. The challenge was in his eyes and as I looked at him and looked at the bridge, for a moment I wavered. I asked him if he would cross it with me and he agreed with a bright smile. For a moment I trusted him and then I looked at the bridge, the river and reminded myself of what I had just seen when he had crossed over the bridge and we went and caught up to the rest of the group.
After Dave passed away, Liz and I went to the swinging bridge again, with my son Nathan, his girlfriend and a couple of other people. For Liz and I, we were remembering that day a couple years ago and we were also honouring Dave with our courage, but it still wasn't a 'stroll in the park'. On our way back, we stopped in the middle of the bridge and took a photo of ourselves, with the sun beaming into our eyes.
