Six years ago, our late friend Ed Gulley single-handedly built a wooden bridge across a running stream to the woods behind our almost inaccessible woods. It was an enormous gift; the woods had been long abandoned.

Last year, the rain storms wrecked the bridge and tore it apart. A couple of weeks ago, Maria decided to rebuild it herself. I repeatedly offered to help or hire help, and she said she wanted to do it herself. We talked for weeks about resting between Christmas and New Year’s, and we hope to do that over the weekend. But it didn’t happen today. She needs a good rest but doesn’t believe in that.

(Photos by Iphone 15 pro Max and new and used Leica 60 mm lens.)

Sometimes, I’m in awe of Maria; I’m unsure if I know her or if someone is emerging from her growth, drive, and creativity.

She impressed me quite a bit today, and I loved her even more if such a thing is possible. I admire her even more all the time, which might be even more important to her. We just never seem to tire of each other. Today, I got another lesson why.

When she proposed this idea, I urged her to hire some prominent men in trucks and lots of equipment to do this hard work. The stream is behind the far pasture, shrouded in growth and fallen trees. You can’t see it from the farmhouse. A bridge like that needs support at either end and the middle. You can’t just drag the wood in.

I was exhausted just from watching her today – but she never considered asking for help. She had absolute confidence that she could do this and a detailed idea of how to do it. She was right; she was delighted and proud when it was finished. Asking Maria to take it easy or seek help is like asking pigs to fly.

The boards were placed carefully above the rushing water; this bridge will be here for a long time.

Today, she did it herself as promised. It was her finest hour here on the farm, and we’ve seen and done a lot here. She has worked on many projects, but this was the most complex and one of the most physical. Maria makes me happy to be alive.

The stream was in dense brush and overgrown forest; the stream was swollen and raging, and the ground was covered in mud. It was cold, foggy and raining.

In my early life and into my 60s, I never saw a woman in my family do manual labor other than cleaning and cooking. This was a complex, very physical, and challenging task.

She spent a couple of weeks planning and thinking about it. The only help she asked me for was to get some clippers and trim away the brush that blocked easy access to the stream, which was roaring and raging today. Ed Gulley’s wood blocks had all been taken apart by the power of the stream. We were cut off from the woods once again.

I cleared the brush with clippers – it took about 40 minutes –  and got out of the way. I was tired.

I was surprised and mesmerized by how hard she worked, how much planning was required, how creative she was, and how strong she was. She dragged two 20-foot wooden planks down into the woods, then hauled wood chunks for drilling and concrete blocks for stabilizing.

She drilled repeatedly, removed her gloves, and worked her hands through the freezing water when it got complex. She wanted to find the washed-away wooden blocks that Ed Gulley had placed under his boards. She found one, but it split in half. We’re looking for other support.

By the end, she was soaking wet and smiling with satisfaction. Zinnia stayed right by her side, repeatedly diving into the water. Fate was close enough to watch but also to keep her eyes on the sheep and donkeys, who couldn’t figure out what we were doing.

By the end, Maria was wading nonchalantly into the rapidly moving stream with her gloves off, drill on, water up to her waist, rolling by hand blocks of wood she couldn’t lift but could drag or roll. She never once groaned, complained, or doubted herself. Her idea of resting is stopping to take a deep breath and returning to work.

Fate and Zinnia were great, staying close and watching closely.

(Drilling long nails wooden strips to keep the boards together)

I took a bunch of photos, of course. They speak for themselves. I wanted to recount the rebuilding of the Gulley Memorial Bridge so we could access our blocked-off woods, which Maria loves to walk in and write about, a place to explore her love of nature. There is plenty of it back there.

. My days of hiking through the woods are nearly over, but I want to walk with her when possible. It was a remarkable experience, one of the most compelling of our time together; I hope these photos help recreate it.

(Hauling the boards down into the woods (I cut the brush) and dragging them over the water and in place. The stream was moving, chunks of limbs and brush rushing past.)

She returned to the barn four or five times to bring down her needed tools and supplies. Some were quite heavy.)

 

(She waded into the rushing water to roll chunks of wood under the boards so that the middle wouldn’t bow under the pressure of people walking on it. The wood strips are for traction for me.)

 

She moved two cinder blocks around to support the far ends of the boards.)

(She drilled two boards every few feet to keep the wood together and above the water.)

(Hauling the boards over the water and into place.)

 

(Lifting the boards to get them in the right place.)

 

The first walk over the bridge. Fate and Zinnia followed in a few minutes)

 

Done; it looks great; we’ll go back tomorrow to ensure it is all holding together perfectly. Here’s to you, Ed Gulley; we call it the Ed Gulley Memorial Bridge. I considered calling it the Maria Wulf Bridge, but she wouldn’t hear it. I’m cooking dinner tonight.