From the editor’s desk
When I was young, it was a big deal when I could talk my grandfather into driving over the Red Covered Bridge on our way home to the farm, north of Princeton. It really wasn’t that far out of our way, but on days when time wasn’t of the essence, I used to get really excited when he made that turn off of Route 26 and headed down the country road that led to this wonderful area landmark. Of course, it wasn’t a landmark to me back then — it was just a fun trip across a covered bridge, complete with a history lesson from my grandfather and a whole lot of horn honking.
My grandfather used to tell me about a day when he would drive a team of horses across the bridge. He spoke of how he was thankful for the bridge, especially when there was a storm; he could keep his team of horses inside the bridge, so they wouldn’t be spooked as much. Every time we drove across that bridge, we stopped before we went through, and Grandpa would read the sign on the bridge about not driving a team of horses faster than a walk across the bridge.
And then he did what I loved most. He would drive the old, green Chevy across the bridge and honk the horn inside the bridge. It was so loud inside that old bridge, and the two of us would just giggle. If I was lucky, I could get him to turn the car around and do it again. Today, I still honk the horn when I drive through Captain Swift’s or the Red Covered Bridge — kind of a tribute to my grandfather.
If you have any technical difficulties, either with your username and password or with the payment options, please contact us by e-mail at email@example.com