The rule is, everyone who visits Penrose must take a photo of the little white house where I spent five years of my boyhood, and others spent much longer. My room was on the right near corner, with two windows.
The Penrose Shoshone River Bridge. Can you imagine how the torrent of water narrows to pass under this undistinguished bridge? Used to be, you felt you were home when you saw the old railroad bridges across the river as the privileged entrance into Penrose. Now, no feeling at all.
Coming off the Byron highway down to Penrose
4 comments:
When the old railroad bridge was replaced with the present unremarkable one, all of the Penrose'ites' were predicting that it would surely wash out with the first big rain. That was more than 40 years ago.
Still miss it.
And in the little house, the little window was my very own bedroom until it was determined a bathroom would be a nice addition.
I don't miss the experience of walking across the river bridge on the joists when they replaced the bridge floor, but we still had to go to school so we walked the 2 x 6's/4 x 6's (or whatever they were). But I do miss the signal the bridge always was that we were almost home.
I remember, I remember the house where I was born, the little window where the sun came creeping in at morn (author unknown) but a rhyme that has stayed with me lo these many years/ It never came a bit too soon or made too long a day but now I often wish it had taken my breath away, or approximately
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