We went down to the suspension bridge over the LaPlatte River. The suspension bridge replaces the log with the rickety handrail that I crossed over so many times with Iris on my back that first winter. But the log with the rickety handrail is gone and the suspension bridge is closed: tied closed, ladder up. Someone on the other side of the river built the suspension bridge for kids to cross on their way to school. No one, as far as I know, fell in or through or even so much as got a splinter on the bridge. But it’s closed now. It probably made some nervous grown-ups extra nervous. Silly grown-ups. They always go and spoil the fun.

June 6th update:

Here is a link to the Shelburne News about the bridge and why it is closed.

Today when Martin left the house, Iris chased his car down the street, barefoot in her pyjamas. She wouldn’t let him kiss her when he left the house, but now she needed kisses. He stopped to kiss her. “I can’t leave to work this way,” he said. “You have to turn around.” We stopped for a moment. When Martin turned the corner, Iris started running again, hoping every car that looked like Papa’s was Papa coming back home. She ran all the way past Joshua’s house, all the way to the post office.

“We can go back through the field,” I suggested, hoping to distract her.

“Kiss Papa,” she said.

I said, “You need more kisses?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

Later, she ran through the woods.

I wish I had unplugged the surge protector.

In the Chicken-Little Club House

where the little chickens play

my daughter entered in

and closed the door

and chose to stay.