A blog chronicling my departure from urban life on the east coast to sheep farm and cheese making life on the west coast. Still recounting the meals I have eaten in my new setting, but with more sheep thrown into the mix.
There is this park near my parent's house called Tookany Creek. There used to be this great old, falling apart, wooden bridge there, but one day they tore it down and replaced it with a shiny, not cool, not old metal one.
Oh my goodness. Wait until I start talking about the old bridge near my house that the neighbor boys and I would hide under. Rotting planks that bowed uncomfortably when compact cars crossed it. A creek below. Sigh. That bridge, like yours, is gone.
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There is this park near my parent's house called Tookany Creek. There used to be this great old, falling apart, wooden bridge there, but one day they tore it down and replaced it with a shiny, not cool, not old metal one.
I don't always like progress very much.
Oh my goodness. Wait until I start talking about the old bridge near my house that the neighbor boys and I would hide under. Rotting planks that bowed uncomfortably when compact cars crossed it. A creek below. Sigh. That bridge, like yours, is gone.
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