Flint Creek.

Just a few miles from where I grew up.

The bridge is called Stanley.

There isn’t a spectacular view.

“The Great Stanley Bridge” is really just a former railroad trestle.

It is hard to romanticize a place, when you know that on the other side of the trees, are just muddy fields full of cabbages.

But it’s a nice, peaceful spot, away from any roads, accessible only by a walking path, down an old railway bed.

These little country railways, laid down in the 1850’s – 1870’s,  didn’t have high embankments, and sometimes run through cuts, so you’re often walking a bit below the level of the fields, like those sunken lanes in England, they call holloways.

The trees and shrubs along it make a green tunnel, that’s pretty shady and pleasant on hot days, and out of the wind on cold days.

Same scene, a week later, and a bit later in the day