The Mystery of Emily’s Bridge
Such a Dream I Had (A log that stands alone)
A haunted covered bridge was of course on our list of places to go when we stayed at the Moose Meadow Lodge (the recommendation is intended) in Vermont.
There is no evidence that a person named Emily died here. The story appears to have been made up in the 70s, but that should not stand in the way of a ghostly tale. Some investigators have reported mysterious phenomena, such as hand prints, equipment malfunction, and sensations of being touched. Why can’t both things be true? If there are spirits, they are not limited to our conceptions of time, place, or reality.
Do our beliefs affect what we experience? If we believe a place is haunted, does that make it so for others? For that matter, there is no reason why spirits should not haunt any place they choose. We have been to the Hornet, a haunted ship near where I live, and it includes ghosts who had no physical connection to it. Here, a ghost may have noticed all the attention at the bridge and decided to stay, looking at all the tourists. Perhaps a spirit is seeking Emily, or Emily herself, just arrived from out of town.
I do wonder why so many haunted tales or legends of a lover’s leap involve young women who kill themselves. No guy is worth it, but such is the story here.
In coming, we had not considered the tourist factor. On a beautiful fall day, with some enjoying a three day trip to celebrate Indigenous People, all roads around Stowe were jammed. We later saw news reports showing traffic jams around the area and people lined up to take the gondola ride as if it were a Disney attraction.
This site was filled to capacity. Perhaps it is the Instagram affect but people were behaving badly. One photographer was taking multiple photos of her clients, standing where we hoped to park and shooting numerous poses at different places on the bridge. We finally parked somewhere else, I retrieved the cache, waited until at least some areas had been photographed — when I started to cross the bridge she complained. I am all for being accommodating but don’t claim you were there for only three seconds.
Regardless, this was a nice bridge, in a state with many such bridges. There are other covered bridges nearby that are far less crowded, so I assume most people come here for the legend or because of social media. If it had been less crowded in the area (and if we hadn’t needed to visit that ice cream place) we might have returned to look at it when there were more shadows.
This one, however, is for Emily, wherever she may be found.
I could almost see her there, dressed in smoky burgundy. Past the empty bridge I walked and heard a whispering. Like the shadows under moon, she was calling out to me — in the hush, the night was warm and the air was still.
From the lane we used to walk rang a bell soft and clear, drifting down to where I stood and drawing me along. When I reached to touch her hand, it was gone before I knew — just a ghost, a memory, and the dream disappeared.
(Apologies to Paul Simon for my train of thought, even though I keep trying to get the song out of my mind, perhaps the altered words go with the somewhat altered photo.
