Buzzards Bay Railroad Bridge
One needs only to look at you to see that you take your existence seriously. Your decidedly military frown dissuades the casual explorer before even they read the signs warning off the unauthorized trespass.
Oak pilings, layered concrete, granite piers. As much of the work as possible was done by hand to provide for the unemployed of 1933 when they undertook to lay the foundations for you, graceful monster, giant’s erector set. Standing astride the canal on your towering legs, you look down on tall ships that pass beneath you.
Unlike other bridges you are not a simple roadway, a means to an end waiting motionless and passively for the burden of traffic. You are a machine. You require reservations and advance notice, permissions and authorizations. Only proper authority can bid you drop your immense span. The train must wait for you, but not for long. After all formalities are met you are ruthlessly efficient, and comply, lowering your two thousand ton span, offset by two one thousand ton counterweights, one on each end, huge steel boxes filled with concrete, in less than five minutes.
You are amazing, an engineering feat, a work of industrial art. You are a tribute to those burning to get from here to there. You are huge, massive, and long-lasting.
Having gone from useful to disused and back to useful again, you inspire me. Thank you for being, o bridge.
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