GOODNESS ME...WHERE ARE WE?! I've got to get you across the Chesapeake Bay, Reader Dear! Heavens, I've got other things to blather about, and we've been traversing this bridge for a week! The bridge-tunnel is long, of course, but not that long!
We've got sixteen more miles to go:
As we're zipping along over this body of water and through the two tunnels, I'll just tell you about the first time I saw this great marvel of a bridge-tunnel. It was during the week of the Grand Opening! (Uh-huh, yes, yes, a long time ago). The year, in fact, was 1964! My father, being a great one for adventure of any kind (most of his life adventures being vastly more momentous than bridge-crossing) decided to load his family into the old (although likely not so old at that time) green and white Ford Fairlane, and go investigate this grand bay-spanning structure. We'd have an outing!
And so we did. Back on that day there were numerous uniformed men patrolling the tunnels, strolling up and down the narrow catwalks, or perched on their glassed-in seats located at intervals. And, uhm, my most enduring memory of the whole event, Reader Dear, is the attempts by my sister and myself to get those patrolling men to respond to our animated waving. Ahem, as was noted earlier, please note that was many long years ago, Dear Reader.
And now...now here we are, with light at the end of the (second) tunnel,
and visible land when we emerge. I think it's
safe to say I've gotten you safely to the other side!
(At any rate, it's the last clip I recorded, so you'll
just have to have faith that you're now on solid ground.)
The yard man and I, we then made our way north through
rush-hour traffic, to arrive at our
final destination just in time for
which, Dear Reader, I've shown
you numerous times, and will
likely go on showing you until
such a date as this Old Home Place
has changed hands, and I'm no longer
entitled to meet here with my siblings
for the weekend,
and stroll around the property,
and meander through the wooded area,
and reminisce around the remains of the Model-T Ford that that twin brother of mine propped up on cinder blocks forty-some years ago,
and relax on the pier,
Oh, Dear Reader, I'm Scarlett O'hara and this is my Tara*! I'll think about that tomorrow!
(*Okay, not quite that grand,
and no slavery of any kind,
unless you wish to count
the washing of dishes,
sweeping of floors,
and all those other bothersome, unpaid chores.)