The Little Bridge Speaks
I started my life in the forests around Rossville. Pioneers cut trees of pine, oak and poplar to build a barn, a house, a shed and a school. When these had all served their time, a man came along, tore them down and salvaged some of the pieces he needed to build me.
I am weathered and worn by many years of sun, wind and rain, but still I am brand new. I began this life in Claude Remsly's backyard. When my life had hardly begun, I was moved on Ralph Rodkey's implement truck to the Rossville school grounds where all the people were celebrating something they called a Centennial. They gave me the name "Centennial Bridge" but most of me is a lot older than 100 years.
After all the people had looked me over and walked through me, I was again loaded on Rodkey's implement truck and brought to this place.
I like it here. The coal water ripples under my timbers and the trees shade my roof.
People can still come to see me. Once in a while something hard hits my roof or sides, and wince a little, but it really doesn't hurt because I am well seasoned. Sometimes, wheels roll over my floor, and the vibrations send a thrill over my frame; sometimes when it rains, people with carts and bags of sticks in them, take shelter inside me. I listen to their stories and laughter -- it keeps me from being lonely.
I hope I can always stay here.
Written by Viola Bennet
She was a neighbor of my parents when I was a little girl and lived in Rossville, Ind.