No point in stopping at the house. There wouldn’t be Updike mementos there, certainly nothing that would remind me of Grandpa Merle or any of his sons or daughters.
Ease on down the hill to the marina and look to the north and east. You see the ghost of Fairfield. If you know where to look, the old covered bridge footing can be seen in the murky shallows, or so they claim.
When the bridge was there, we used it. We never worried if it was safe. The school bus went through it, as did cars, trucks (little ones) and tractors, bikes, horses, probably a few cows and chickens.
Just stop, honk your horn and proceed if you don’t hear another horn.
The bridge was safe.
UNDER the bridge was peace. In the summer, when the river was down, nice quiet sandbars and calm water … nope, nuthin’ better than an easygoing dip in the cool water. It was a unique spot.
For other interesting stories about what went on under the old bridge, consult your own mind.