Bridges, Great Smoky Mountains, Wildflowers

On probably our last wildflower hike of the spring, we got to a point where the trail crossed a creek in the Great Smoky Mountains.  Cascading water from recent rains coursed through a valley of huge boulders.  The water took on the look of anger as it raged at its confines.  And the bridge, if you can call it a bridge, had one hand rail and a 10″ wide foot log.  When we read about “the bridge” before the hike, our guide book mentioned that the surface had asphalt.  So, I thought of a nice wide secure bridge.  Do you see those logs propped on the boulders?  Do you see the 45 degree turn?  Do you see me gritting my teeth?  What you can’t see is how far down it is to the frothy water and more large boulders.  I had to keep focused on Bob ahead of me, and tell myself to keep putting one foot infront of the other.  The more that I thought about that bridge and how much apprehension I had; the more I thought about how much like life the experience was.  In life we need to keep moving forward to survive its difficulties.  And just because we endure them once doesn’t mean that we won’t have to “cross that bridge” again on the way back down life’s trail. So, twice we crossed that bridge.  Was it worth it?  Just as anyone at the end of life would answer, yes, the journey was worth the risk.  (Watch for the next blog with pictures of what we saw.)

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