Midwinter Musings: A year at the bridge

For the year and a half we lived in Hopkins, most mornings and some evenings I took the same walk. To the bridge and back. And I usually snapped the same picture. A record, a year in place. While I noticed that either my walks or my photography got a little thin January through March (sometimes the cold kept my camera from working) I was, more or less, consistent.

Seeing all the changes that took place, as well as discovering the mood of the day, made that selfsame walk interesting year round. Leaves and sky changed colors remarkably quickly. Mist rendered it a virtually unknown landscape, like the first time I went on this walk in December 2016, and could not see the end of the long railroad spur leading into the lake to the bridge. I truly did not know where I was going or where the trail would end. The entire city, so close around me, was entirely absent. All there was was mist and bare branches. April, with its three tenacious blizzards, gave way to a spring entirely compressed in to the 31 days of May. Swallows nested under the bridge, and fish guarded nests in the water just to the right of it.Giant snapping turtles laid their eggs on shore. Loons called at sunset. A bald eagle sat regally on an oak branch in January. Foxes dodged and deer stood brazen along the path. A coyote trotted on the sidewalk boldly on a sunny morning. Baltimore orioles, sparrows, robins and chickadees enjoyed the birches and cottonwood along the path. Geese and ducks were regulars, treading the open water by the swimming dock all winter long. Once, I spotted seven swans a swimming. Dog walkers, fishermen, teens in hammocks, bikers large and small, all used the bridge. One morning I came out to giant orange inflatable pyramids. I was just in time to cheer on the triathletes swimming beneath. In winter I could walk underneath, examining swallows nests frozen to the snow. In summer, a little kayaking trip let me see them at home. Not bad for a suburban neighborhood.